


It Must Be (True Love)

by frostywonder



Series: H/D Smoochfest [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2015 H/D Smoochfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostywonder/pseuds/frostywonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No amount of playing by the rules has made Harry's life any easier, and Malfoy has matured but also hasn't. They are who they are, and though they try, neither one can fully change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Must Be (True Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 HD Smoochfest on Livejournal.
> 
> Songspiration: True Love - Pink  
> Prompter: golden_snitch12  
> Title: It Must Be (True Love)  
> Prompt Number: #30  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): None  
> Epilogue compliant? Nope  
> Author's Notes: I had other plans for this prompt, ones that were quick, humorous, and based around bickering differences. Somehow this ended up a little slow, a little serious, and all about stubborn similarities. Less fiery passion and more calm attraction? As always, I cannot thank enough both beta-La and the lovely Smoochfest mods for being the most awesome, patient people possible.

 

 

The Ministry population had thinned considerably by the time Harry and his assignment partner, Adrian Pucey, stumbled out of the fireplaces. Even the personnel who often lingered past normal working hours were already calling their departing words and heading home. The office stragglers gave the Aurors a wide, distasteful berth—noses scrunching against stale sweat and spell ozone, and mouths pinching at the mud the exhausted men had tracked across the marble Atrium floor.

Pucey scoffed lightly but otherwise ignored everyone they encountered, his chin held hide despite the weariness around his eyes. Harry couldn't help but smile at the man's pride, and ducked his head to hide his amusement from any critical glances.

The late hour left the lifts completely empty, the attendants also long since gone for the day. The Aurors trudged into the closest lift, Harry wrestling with the grille while Pucey rang in their floor. They rode in silence, each lost in thought, both mentally listing the last of their tasks before they, too, could escape to their homes for warm meals and comfortable beds. Or rather, in Harry's case, skipping the food and going straight to bed, as he was already beginning to nod off, standing in a rattling tin can or not.

He awoke on cue as the scripted voice named their floor and department, the stolen nap now a habit for him after long days, and he could only shrug when his Senior Auror gave him a mildly disapproving look. Yawning, he absentmindedly followed toward the Auror office, the path through familiar enough that he was sorely tempted to walk it with his eyes closed.

"Well," Pucey started, sighing as they entered their office space, "Anything tagged as evidence can be given to Intake in the morning." He paused to remove his heavy outer robe, tossing it over the side of his cubicle wall, and unbuttoned his cuffs. "All that stands between us and freedom is paperwork."

Harry grunted in acknowledgement and dropped behind his own desk, simply slouching in his chair for a drowsy moment before forcing himself to sit up and grab a quill. He was briefly elated as he retrieved a basic report form, being that it was all he, as backup, was required to fill out, but then immediately felt guilty when he heard Pucey shuffling scrolls. Having been lead Auror on their case, Pucey had a lot more to report, more paperwork to complete.

It was to no fault of Harry's that the day's case had been a tedious one, and it was expected of the lead Auror to complete the main paperwork, but Harry couldn't help feeling like his one required parchment was somehow cheating. To mollify his conscience, he decided to log everything they'd collected with Intake first thing in the morning. If the process went smoothly, he'd have a Critical Evidence report ready for Pucey to hand to Robards even before the usual mid-morning coffee break.

This plan in mind, Harry began scribbling his way through his follow-up report, noting the key points of their search and briefly describing potential evidence gathered. He was just concluding a final summary on why they had handed the case back to the branch Enforcement Patrol Squad when one of their own Enforcers announced herself by loudly slamming open the office door. Harry and Pucey both jumped in their chairs; tough, brave Aurors, they considered themselves.

Romilda Vane didn't so much as glance around the Auror office. She gave the air of knowing exactly what she was looking for, late hour or no. As such, her eyes narrowed on an increasingly grim-faced Pucey and, with a quick, amused tug of the lips, she strode over to his desk, crumpled memo held in one hand.

"There's been another incident. Another potion backfired," she said, barely finished speaking before Harry heard Pucey drop his quill with a groan. Catching Romilda's eye, Harry gave her a questioning look, curious, but she only shook her head, tucking in her lips to hold back a smile.

"I don't know that I have the patience for this tonight," Pucey sighed, tired voice drifting over the cubicle wall. "Is it something serious or can we deal with the crazy bastard in the morning?"

"A bump on the head seems to be the only injury, but the notice mentioned a Class 3 toxin he hasn't been cleared for," Romilda answered, earning another frustrated sigh from Pucey. Unbothered by his irritation, she primly added, "And he's rich, therefore he's _eccentric_ , not _crazy_ , which is why we have to humour him. Also, I'm rather certain he's _not_ a bastard."

Harry could easily imagine Pucey shooting her an unappreciative glare, having gotten to know the other Auror well, as he grumpily replied, "Give me an hour. I need to finish this. I'm sure the _eccentric_ won't die from a _bump_ in the meantime."

Romilda nodded and was just about to turn to leave when Harry spoke up, "I could take care of it."

There was a scoot of a chair as Pucey stood, both he and Romilda looking at Harry in surprise.

"It's just a project case, right?" Harry pressed, referring to the ongoing assignments that didn't really involve Dark wizards but required an extra degree of authority to assist Enforcement Patrol. Most Senior Aurors handled a few minor ones at any given time. Harry held up his completed report. "I'm all done here, so I don't mind checking it out for you."

There was a longing to Pucey's eyes at the offer, but it was tempered by responsibility.

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Potter," he said, sounding guilty for having even momentarily considered it, and with a pointed look added, "It's already been a long day."

"Not a problem, I've still got plenty of energy," Harry lied, waving away the concern with a casual hand, as though he hadn't been sleepwalking the minute they returned to the Ministry. Yet all Harry could think of was how late it had already gotten and how Pucey had mentioned just that morning that he wanted to get home in time to say goodnight to his daughters. "By the time you finish up here, we'll," he motioned between himself and Romilda, "probably be done, too, so it all evens out."

"Do you even know what project Enforcer Vane is referring to?" Pucey asked dryly, but it was clear he was seriously considering Harry's bargain.

"I can fill him in on the way," Romilda said, suddenly all smiles, and gave Harry a secretive wink. She shrugged carelessly at Pucey's arched brow. "Let him take it tonight. It's not like he doesn't have the clearance, and you look like you could use the sleep more than him."

Pucey squinted another glare at Romilda, then turned to Harry, giving him a considering once-over. After a moment more, the Senior Auror sighed again and then conceded with a nod.

"Fine, if you're feeling up to it, then I don't see why you can't take a look for me," he said, though it seemed more as an assurance to himself than a confirmation to Harry. His expression became solemn but grateful. "Thank you, Potter."

"Er, just wanna help where I can," Harry said with an awkward chuckle.

Romilda's hand closed around his wrist and he was tugged out of his chair.

"Come _on_ , Harry," she said, and when Pucey tsk-ed admonishingly, she corrected with a roll of the eyes, "Come on, _Auror Potter_. I'll give you all the details on the way."

Harry only briefly resisted in order to drop his report on Secretary Hawthorne's desk and then let her drag him to the lifts, only then asking, "Where are we headed?"

Romilda hummed and her smile was mischievous.

"Wiltshire."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry carefully examined his surroundings, mostly due to paranoid training—locate first thy exits—but also out of surprised appreciation. The home wasn't particularly _quaint_ , but it did feel comfortable, relaxed. The furniture and decorations were simple: straight lines, soft and neutral colors, nothing that appeared overly expensive or gaudy. He found himself impressed; it was not what he'd been expecting after Romilda had finally told him who it was they were coming to see.

"Did I not _just_ say that that hurts?" the person in question snapped, slapping away the probing hands of the responding Emergency Mediwizard. " _Why_ do you _insist_ on continuing to poke me?"

" _Sir_ ," the mediwizard said forcefully, "I am not _poking_ you. I need to examine you to determine the extent of your injury, but if you keep _squirming_ I won't be able to."

"I am _not_ squirming!" was the indignant response, followed by the muttered accusation, "Your hands are _cold_."

"Lovely home, isn't it?" Romilda asked, reappearing at Harry's side, having immediately scampered off as soon as they'd arrived in the parlor fireplace. She hadn't said where she was going but Harry assumed she knew her way around the place. After all, she and Pucey had worked this particular project together for a few years now, or so she'd told Harry on the trip over.

"Oddly, yes," Harry admitted, gaze approving as they meandered toward the arguing pair sitting at the base of a stairway. "Not at all what I imagined."

"You'd be surprised how much people change," Romilda sang. Then she looked at the belligerent subject of their task and scoffed. "And how much they don't. Malfoy!"

The chatter immediately stopped, both mediwizard and injured party finally noticing the approaching Auror and Enforcer, the latter stomping their way.

"Would you stop being—well— _you_ and let him take a look!" Romilda chided, coming to a sharp stop before the disgruntled Malfoy heir and placing her hands on her hips.

"Stop being me? _Stop_ being _me?_ What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Malfoy barked in offense.

"You know _exactly_ what it means," Romilda sniffed.

"It's not like I'm not used to it," the mediwizard said, ignoring his hissing patient for the moment to greet Romilda. Now that they were facing each other, Harry thought he looked vaguely familiar and he, too, seemed to recognize Harry, holding out his hand after removing the glove charm on it. "Good to see you again, Potter. Been a while, yeah?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, politely accepting the offer to shake but otherwise not quite remembering the man before him. "Long time."

To Harry's embarrassment, the mediwizard smiled knowingly.

"Eddie Carmichael," he stated. "A year or so ahead of you at school?"

"Right, right, sorry," Harry apologized, the name triggering a dim memory of a younger version of the man in Ravenclaw robes.

Carmichael was in the midst of good-humoredly waving off the apology when he was abruptly shoved aside, allowing Malfoy to see around him. Strangely, Malfoy seemed as if he had been about to say something but it was as if he had forgotten the second he saw Harry, jaw snapping shut and expression swiftly changing from irritation to confusion.

"…Potter?" he asked, and scanned Harry from head to toe with an uncomfortable frown, taking in the faded Auror robes, the unruly hair, the scar. Harry returned the examination, noting the drying blood that caked the left side of Malfoy's head and liberally stained the shoulder of his robes. His injury looked to be more than a simple bump, but before Harry could ask after it, Malfoy glared at Romilda again and demanded, "Where's Adrian?"

"Auror Pucey was busy, so I will be stepping in for tonight," Harry explained, making a point to smile courteously when Malfoy's eyes returned to him. Aurors were expected to uphold a friendly image with the general public, after all. It was part of the Ministry's Code of Conduct. After the war, the public was keeping a sharp eye on authority. "How've you been, Malfoy?"

Instead of responding, Malfoy merely continued his silent studying, even as Romilda giggled, appearing completely off his momentum by Harry's presence.

"No," he said at last, moving to shake his head in denial but stopping with a wince. Hesitantly placing a hand over his injury, like he wanted to push on a headache but was afraid to do so, he once more addressed Romilda, repeating uncertainly, "Where's Adrian?"

"He's _busy_ , Malfoy," Romilda sighed, gently tugging the bloodied hand away. "He can't come tonight. You'll have to make do with Harry."

"Listen, I've really got to examine him," Carmichael interrupted, stopping whatever Malfoy's next complaint may have been. He reapplied the glove charm on his hands. "That cut on his head looks to be a nasty one, but he hasn't held still long enough for me to get a good assessment."

"Don't jab your wand at me," Malfoy protested when Carmichael stepped toward him, drawing away from the probing oak. Romilda calmly held his shoulder to stop him from leaning any further.

Carmichael sent her a grateful nod and then said to Malfoy, "I'm going to take your blood pressure again."

" _Again?_ " Malfoy asked, confused, and now that he was being restrained, Harry thought he looked a bit like a cornered animal, sitting on the stairs with the three of them standing over him. "I don't remember you taking my blood pressure!"

"I _know_ ," Carmichael said, expression no longer amused and now strained as he waved diagnostic spells over Malfoy's heart. "That's why I'm worried."

"Do we need to take him to St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Wha—! _Potter?_ " Malfoy's eyes snapped to the Auror and he tensed, scrutinizing Harry as if he hadn't already done so. He frantically turned to Romilda. "Where is Adrian?"

Harry and Romilda exchanged a worried glance.

"Yeah…"Carmichael said nervously, "I'm gonna need to take him to the hospital."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over time, Harry had developed a squeamish, physical response to visiting St. Mungo's Hospital. Having been there as often as he had, his body automatically associated pain with the tanginess of cleansing spells and pungent odors of healing potions, and he subsequently felt sick to his stomach. He stood as patiently as he could while Romilda quietly discussed Malfoy's injury with Padma Patil—the Healer on call that evening—but he secretly hoped they'd either hurry things along or distract him before he vomited for what would look like no reason at all.

As if answering his mental plea, Padma glanced his way and smiled.

"Good to see you _not_ as one of my patients, Harry," she said warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. She gestured to the room that hid Malfoy. "You can go in, if you'd like. He should be awake soon."

"You have your Auror questions, right? Go on then, ask him," Romilda encouraged with an unusually wide grin, one that she soon shared with the Healer.

Harry gave them a _look_ , aware that they were tricking him in some manner, but did as instructed if only to get out of the hallway. The rooms, at least, didn't smell so strongly.

Leaving Enforcer and Healer to chat, he knocked lightly on Malfoy's door, and then quietly slipped inside when he received no answer. The room was as sterile and unfriendly as every one he'd ever visited, but despite the late hour, the _lumos_ was raised to full brightness. The reflection in the window showed him what was hidden behind the bed's curtain and Harry was surprised to see its occupant awake.

Malfoy was sat straight up in bed, hands clasped lightly on his lap, and hair practically taped to his head by white bandages. The blood was mostly wiped up but there were still a few flecks of it on his cheek and neck, and he'd been changed into the thin, disposable blue patient's robes, his own potion- and blood-covered set neatly folded along with his underclothes at the foot of the bed.

Harry moved around the curtain to sit on the edge of the empty second bed, feeling Malfoy's eyes on him as he did. It was bizarre, being alone and talking with Malfoy after so long. They'd passed near one another on the streets, and occasionally Harry had seen Malfoy from afar in the Ministry, but this was the first time they had been forced to truly acknowledge each other's presence in almost a decade.

"Auror Pucey had another matter to attend to," Harry began preemptively, figuring Malfoy might be unable to recall anything before they arrived at St. Mungo's. He pulled his scratch pad and a permanent-inked quill from his robe pocket before finally meeting Malfoy's eyes, saying, "He'll probably stop by your home tomorrow, but for now I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Malfoy only blinked at him, expression neutral bordering on bemused.

Harry shifted his position to a more comfortable one, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling up to answering? I can give you a little more time if you'd—"

"Did you know," Malfoy interrupted, speaking slowly and thickly as if drugged, "that pants are just pillow cases for bums?"

"Er," Harry said, and now he was the one doing the confused blinking. "I'm sorry…?"

"Pants are pillowcases," Malfoy started, leaving the sentence hanging long enough that Harry was just about to speak again before he finished, "for bums."

"Is this a joke?" Harry asked warily. Malfoy didn't appear well enough to be having him on, rather green around the edges, and he wasn't about to hold the man's petty childhood against him now, but he couldn't help the rising irritation. Old habits die hard, he guessed. "Malfoy, I may not be the usual Auror assigned to oversee your project, but I—"

"Squishy, _pillowy_ bums," Malfoy again cut in, lifting his hands and making slow squeezing motions, eyes glazed as though he hadn't heard a word Harry had said. "And soft, pillow-casey pants."

Harry stared, mouth still open from having been interrupted mid-sentence.

"Bums," Malfoy continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned closer, "are _pillows_."

They watched each other for another long moment, Malfoy dazedly and Harry guardedly, and then Harry stood with frustrated sigh, stuffing his quill and pad back into his pocket.

"I'll be right back," he said.

He wasn't really expecting an answer, but as he left he heard Malfoy murmur, "Pillow bums…"

Romilda and Padma were clearly waiting for Harry, both intently watching the door for his return, and as soon as he stepped into the hallway, they erupted into snorts and giggles. He tried to flatly glare at them but, as he wasn't truly upset, he soon found himself unable to resist smiling as well.

"All right, I get it. He's not going to be completely lucid for a while, so ha, ha, very funny," he groused good-naturedly. "What did you give him?"

Padma reigned in the worst of her giggles and wiped a hand across her tearing eyes. "Oh, he only had a minor concussion that needed a simple anti-swelling charm. It looked a lot worse than it was. Head wounds bleed a lot, you know?"

"It's the— It's the, the potion!" Romilda wheezed, unable to speak through her continued laughter.

"Most people only feel a vague sense of comfort," Padma elucidated, Romilda's interjection being gibberish otherwise, "but some get rather loopy on pain-killing potions. I'm afraid Malfoy falls into the second category. He has absolutely _no_ tolerance for them."

"Ah, that would explain the ‘bums are pillows' thing," Harry said, quoting Malfoy with his fingers and sending Romilda into another round of stomach-aching giggles.

Padma lightly shushed her, though was certainly still quite amused. "It is unlikely that you'll get any sense out of him until he sleeps it off."

"Only a _minor_ concussion?" Harry asked thoughtfully, abruptly rounding back to Padma's diagnosis and recalling Malfoy's behavior before they arrived at the hospital. "That's all it was? He seemed pretty… _off_ earlier, too."

Padma grinned and nodded. "Perhaps he was a tad forgetful, yes? Part of the potion he was working on evidently contained Chichi root—"

"A class 3 toxin he was never approved to use," Romilda cut in with one last snort of humor.

"—and it's well known for causing short-term memory loss."

"So when the potion reacted and splashed him…" Harry inferred.

"The dissolved Chichi root absorbed through his skin and into his blood stream," Padma confirmed.

"And, like an idiot, he got confused and tripped over his own feet," Romilda said, lightly tapping her own head to indicate to what injury the fall had led.

Padma nodded, unrolling a small scroll to read through it. "A painful hit, no doubt, but he'll only be left with a bruise. The amount of the root he was using was very little, not nearly enough to do any long-term damage, but I gave him a small dose of antidote to counter the root's effect just in case."

"All right then," Harry said, facing Romilda. "What now? I still need to see where the incident occurred if I'm going to give Pucey and Robards a report."

"I put a preserving spell over his lab when we first arrived," Romilda replied and straightened purposefully, having gotten most of her mirth under control and returning to her usual skilled and knowledgeable Enforcer demeanor. She pat her robe pocket and said, "I've plenty of evidence droplets, so we can head back to Malfoy's whenever you'd like."

"You may as well take him with you," Padma said, and motioned toward the mediwitch station down the hall. "They'll need you to sign a couple of forms and then he's all yours again."

Harry smiled nervously at Romilda, suggesting hopefully, "I'll get the forms if you get Malfoy?"

"Not a chance," Romilda scoffed. "You may be the fancy pants Auror but you're still the rookie on _this_ project, so _you_ get to wrestle the loon to the fireplaces."

"Don't worry," Padma said kindly, rubbing Harry's arm encouragingly when he sighed. "He's usually very compliant."

" _Usually_ , huh?" Harry complained lightly, if only to earn another giggle from the ladies.

"I'm sure you'll get accustomed to such things," she continued, her smile turning teasing, "What with taking on project cases now and all. They're almost always, ah, _quirky_ from what I've seen."

Harry felt himself blush and he ducked his head, embarrassed that Padma has misread the situation. "Ah, no, that's not—well— _maybe_ , here and there, when they need me." He shrugged. "It's not really a permanent thing though. I'm just helping out."

"Oh, don't think I don't know what you're up to, Harry Potter," Romilda teased. At his questioning look, she clarified, "Getting your foot in the door, is what. Your name's been at the top of the backup roster for the last _month_ , and now you're showing them you can handle the minor projects like Malfoy's. Planning to move your way up to Senior Auror, hmm?" She grinned knowingly. "It's about time, too, you taking initiative with your career."

"Huh?" At first, Harry didn't understand why she would think his helping with Malfoy's project case was taking initiative, but as he replayed his offering to help out Pucey in his head, he realized with further embarrassment how it must have looked and sounded. He stopped Romilda's line of thought with both hands. "Whoa, whoa. _No_. That's not— I wasn't—!"

Their surprised looks at his vehemence had him deflating.

"I only wanted to help," he insisted less adamantly. "Pucey's got kids, you know? He's been pulling a lot of late shifts recently. It didn't feel fair. And I've only been backup all month because Wiggs and Hao've been out sick with dragon pox."

Both women stared at him for a long moment—then Romilda huffed in frustration and Padma giggled behind a hand.

"Well, for what it's worth," the Healer said, gently patting his shoulder, "I think you'd make a wonderful Senior Auror. Now, I really must be going. Patients are waiting." A squeeze. "It was good to see you again."

"Ah, yeah, you too," Harry assured, waving goodbye as she left before facing Romilda's flat stare with some trepidation.

"I can't believe you," the Enforcer said, exasperated. "Is that really all this is? You helping out Pucey so he can go home early?"

"Well, yeah." Harry gave a confused and mildly agitated shrug when she huffed again. "I don't know what you want from me."

"You're still the same old Harry Potter, aren't you?" she said, sounding disappointed.

"Is that supposed to be bad?" he asked, beginning to feel offended.

" _No_ , it's just… a typical Harry Potter thing to do," she scoffed, shaking her head. Softly, she said to herself, "You'd be amazed at how much people change and how much they _don't_."

"What?"

"Forget it," she sighed, flapping a hand dismissively at him. She started toward the mediwitch station, adding over her shoulder, "Just go get Malfoy. I'll meet you by the Floo."

Harry watched her go and was suddenly reminded of every break up he had ever experienced—a disappointed ex storming away and him not knowing what it was he had done wrong.

Clearly Romilda was right; not much changed.

He sighed.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pucey was waiting for Harry the next morning, sitting on the corner of his desk. In one hand he held a mug of coffee and in the other the report Harry had written about Malfoy's failed experiment. Harry was a little ashamed that Pucey was reading it, as it was no doubt full of holes, Harry's lack of knowledge on the project and Malfoy's inability to explain preventing a full account on all aspects of the incident. Romilda, naturally, had been of little use, Harry's difficulty with getting Malfoy to bed apparently far too humorous for her to consider helping.

Sure enough, as Harry settled into his desk, Pucey commented, "A little vague," but, lips twitching at Harry's wince, followed with, "No need to worry. I learned a long time ago that nothing to do with Draco Malfoy is ever cut and dry."

"Romilda didn't warn me about the pain killers, how Malfoy would act on them," Harry replied, only slightly defensive. "I'd've had more to tell you if he hadn't been so…" He waved a hand in place of a word, not sure how to explain.

"Yes, the Enforcers do take a sadistic sort of pleasure in mocking us," Pucey snorted, eyes on the report again, only flicking briefly to Harry. "Enforcer Vane and Malfoy aside, what do you think of this project, Potter? Interesting, isn't it?"

Harry instantly recognized the deceptive calm of the Senior Auror and sat a little straighter in his chair, a warning buzzer going off in his head. "Er, it's… all right." He swallowed. "I didn't really understand a lot of it, to be honest. What Malfoy's researching, I mean."

Pucey nodded with offhanded interest. To anyone else, he would've looked as if he was only half-listening. Harry knew better and a sense of foreboding had his stomach twisting.

"His work is rather advanced, but an intelligent, capable man such as yourself would be able to pick up the basics in no time," Pucey said lightly. He finally looked fully at Harry, fixing the younger Auror with a firm look. "If you were exposed to it more. The research, I mean."

Harry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "That makes sense. Seeing his research more frequently would familiarize me with the basics of it."

"And that's all you'd really need to know, the basics," Pucey agreed, eyes never leaving Harry, and he took a sip of his coffee before adding weightily, "If you were overseeing the project, that is."

"Er, right. _If_ I were overseeing the project," Harry said slowly, doing his best to meet Pucey's stare without letting his growing dread show on his face.

Pucey just continued to feign casualness as he watched Harry over his mug.

A hand came down heavy on Harry's shoulder, abruptly startling him out of the staring contest. He jerked away from the hand and twisted frantically to see who'd gotten behind him.

"The hell's the matter with you?" Robards demanded, looking dubiously at Harry.

Harry sent Pucey a glare for a poorly hidden snort of amusement, but wilted quickly upon facing his Head Auror. "Er, sorry sir. You, uh, caught me by surprise."

Robards grunted, still eyeing Harry like he was a madman, but seemed to shrug it off. "Adrian's already talked to you then?"

"Haven't quite gotten to it," Pucey said, smirking at Harry. "We were still dancing around the subject."

"Well stop two-stepping it and start studying up, Potter," Robards growled, patting a clump of scrolls that Harry only then noticed sitting on his desk. To Harry's horror, the one on top was neatly labelled with Malfoy's name and wrapped in a Project Purple cuff.

"Congratulations on your first project, Auror Potter," Pucey said informatively.

"But sir," Harry insisted to Robards, panicked, "I'm not a Senior Auror. I can't—"

"What's this Potter?" Robards boomed. "You trying to get outta work? You think you can be lazy in _my_ unit?"

Harry shook his head hard enough to make it throb, hands up in front of him in reassuring surrender. "No! No sir, it's not that. It's just, er, I don't want to, you know, step on any toes, me not being qualified—"

Robards waved him silent with a scoff. "You're more than qualified. No one's going to contest that because of a _title_." He narrowed a stern look on Harry. "The only reason you don't have that title in the first place is because you won't apply for it. Don't think I'm not on to you, the way you're trying to stick with the easy jobs. I expect better of you, Potter."

"That's not—"

"Don't disappoint me," Robards gruffed, effectively ending the conversation, and stalked off to terrify his other employees.

Harry watched him go, mouth gaping, and then turned stunned, wide eyes on Pucey.

"I can't thank you enough. You're really freeing up my time," the Senior Auror said nonchalantly. His smirk widened into a grin and he motioned with his mug to the scrolls. "Best get to reading. You'll want to catch up. I'll have the rest sent over later."

And with that, Harry was in charge of his first project.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the second time within 24 hours, Harry found himself startled a foot out of his chair as yet another person loudly barged into the Auror office. He wasn't alone in doing so—a fact that soothed his pride—but he was beginning to wonder how anyone felt safe slamming doors around paranoid Aurors. He was surprised, and then not, to see who currently intruded amongst his hex-happy brethren.

"Where's Adrian?" Malfoy demanded, utterly unfazed by the wild-eyed looks the Aurors were giving him. "Where _is_ he?"

"He's gone to lunch," Savage answered disinterestedly, the only one to not have even so much as flinched at Malfoy's loud arrival. She seemed rather accustomed to noise, seated nearest the door as she was, and calmly continued her crossword without a hiccup.

Romilda appeared beside Malfoy and was quick to smack him upside the head when he started squawking over Pucey's absence. "That's enough!"

"Ow!" Malfoy turned his glare on her, hand shooting to rub the sore spot. "Enforcer brutality!"

"I'll show you Enforcer brutality if you don't shut it!" Romilda snapped, shaking a fist at him, and then ignored his grumbling while she sought out Harry, spotting the Auror even as he slid lower in his seat—what he wouldn't give for one of the cubicles that _couldn't_ be seen from the office door. She spoke through clenched teeth. "Lunch. _Now_."

As the command was paired with an uncompromising glower, Harry was quick to wiggle up and out of his chair, spelling closed any scrolls containing confidential information as he went. The other Aurors carefully avoided his desperate glances, each suddenly pretending to be busy, all fearful of extra work should they attempt to intervene on his behalf.

An impatient huff from Romilda had Harry hurrying faster, pulling on and buttoning his outer robes while he hotfooted after her and Malfoy. Thankfully his pocket passed the patting check for wallet and mobile Floo—he wouldn't have dared turn back to get them otherwise.

Savage smirked at him over the top of her crossword when he practically ran past her desk, offering, "Good luck!" with a short laugh. He'd have glared but he didn't want to lose any time.

Romilda had dragged Malfoy to the lifts and was bickering with him again while a nervous, freckled lift attendant held the grate. Harry sent the young woman an apologetic look as he came to a stop by the quarreling pair.

"Adrian's been with me since the beginning," Malfoy was saying. "He's seen every step and discovery first hand. _Potter_ hasn't seen a damn thing—he doesn't _know_ a damn thing!"

"That's why you're going to _explain_ it!" Romilda argued back, looking on the verge of breaking something; Harry suspected Malfoy's neck was first on the list. "As much as we all joke about it, Aurors _aren't_ that stupid. It won't kill you to go over your notes with him!"

Harry thought maybe he should feel insulted, wondering what jokes were being made about Auror intelligence—wondering if him not knowing was what made him the butt of those jokes in the first place.

Malfoy pressed a hand over his head where he'd been cut the night before and groaned, "Ugh, stop yelling at me. I'm still hurt and now I have a headache because of all this."

Romilda abruptly changed from irritated to apoplectic.

"You— _You_ have a headache?"

It was probably a good time to mediate, but before Harry could say anything, Romilda had snatched him by the collar and yanked him into Malfoy, using the momentum to shove both men into the lift. The attendant yelped and jumped out of the way, watching the whole ordeal with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth.

"Malfoy, you've a new Auror. Get _over_ it," Romilda growled as the men fumbled to straighten up. She pointed a threatening finger at Malfoy when he made to protest. " _No_. You are going to go to lunch with Harry and you are going to be kind and helpful, and everything that you're _not_ , in order to explain what Harry needs to know about your project. _Harry_." Romilda turned her finger on the flinching Auror. " _You_ are going to listen and stop being so wishy-washy about your career. You're going to step up and prove me right and this is only going to be the first of many projects for you."

She then grabbed the golden grille one-handed and threw it closed, scowling at them through the holes.

"Now then, I have a man in Brookdale who's been _fidelius_ ed out of his own home, a woman in Kingsville who's charmed off her own face, and a loose Wigspurt in Baytown," she growled. "And on top of all that, Mr. Fluffy Britches is sick! _Sick!_ So you two _chat_ and _work things out_ and _don't_ bother _me_ for the rest of the day! _Understood?_ "

Harry nodded obediently and Malfoy rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

Romilda turned on her toe and began stalking away, snapping over her shoulder at the lift attendant, "Take them to the Atrium!"

With an answering squeak, the attendant quickly pushed the lift lever, sending them all into jerking motion.

"Aren't Aurors supposed to have hierarchal authority over Enforcers?" Malfoy flatly asked, gaze drifting in the opposite direction of Harry like he was trying to show he wasn't really that interested in the topic.

"In theory, I think," Harry said, frowning uncertainly.

Malfoy sighed shortly and, oddly, said, "You're off a button."

"Er." Harry paused, thrown. "What?"

"You're—oh, just come here," Malfoy huffed.

Reflexively, Harry caught Malfoy's reaching hands, but then saw that Malfoy was aiming for his Auror robe, which he'd apparently misbuttoned in his haste. He looked up, intending to speak, but was instead hit by the same feeling he'd had the night before, the one that told him it was strange being near Malfoy, talking, after almost a decade. Especially since their last few encounters had been… not pleasant.

It was just weird, this sudden, forced interaction.

Wasn't it?

Realizing that he was staring, and still gripping Malfoy's hands, Harry sucked in a small breath and took a step back.

"I'll fix it," he said, releasing Malfoy.

"Sure," Malfoy mumbled, turning away again, looking as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

As he finished with the buttons, Harry thought he heard the quiet _hoot_ of a Fowl and he fished his mobile out of his pocket. Sure enough, the little icon for a Floo-owl was at the top of the screen. It was from Romilda, and Harry frowned down at it, not quite certain what to make of the message.

He glanced at Malfoy, wondering if he should ask, but then mentally shrugged in resignation, figuring he'd learn everything he needed to know soon enough.

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"So," Harry began once they were settled in a booth, greasy food in front of them. The awkwardness had continued since the lift, both of them offering basic small talk about the weather and where to eat but most of the time spent in uneasy silence. "I've been reading up all morning. About your research, I mean."

Malfoy gave him a wary glance.

"It's, um," Harry fumbled for a word, " _ambitious_."

"It is," Malfoy conceded guardedly. "But someone has to solve it. Why not me?"

The waitress saved Harry from having to answer, appearing beside their table and asking, "Everything taste all right? Can I get you anything else?"

"I'd like a beer," Malfoy said, making Harry start.

"Uh, you sure that's a good idea?" Harry quickly interrupted, holding up a hand to stop the waitress from writing the order on their ticket.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. " _I'm_ not on company time right now, Potter. _I_ can have a drink."

"Uh, it's just, um," Harry hedged, knowing he couldn't really stop Malfoy from ordering what he wanted but also distinctly remembering Romilda's Fowl. "I guess I just thought you were more… a, er, wine kinda guy?"

"Wine," Malfoy stated flatly, and even the waitress was giving Harry a funny look now. "Wine to go with my chips and sandwich."

Harry could only shrug gracelessly as he stammered, "What I mean is, er, we're trying to work out the logistics of… _this_ ," he flicked his hand to indicate the two of them, "and maybe it'd be better if we did it with a clear head."

Malfoy just stared for a moment. Then, with an aggravated sigh, he said to the waitress, "He'll take one, too."

"I'm on the clock," Harry protested.

"It's one beer, Potter," Malfoy scoffed, judgmentally eyeing Harry. "Trust me, you need it."

He sent the waitress off with a nod before Harry could reply. Truthfully, Harry was a little relieved at the prospect of tension-easing alcohol, watered down as it may come, but the Fowl niggled in the back of his mind.

The waitress returned with their drinks soon enough and Harry nervously watched Malfoy take a couple large gulps from his glass.

"Well, uh," Harry said, sipping from his own beer, "Why don't we start from the beginning then? How did you get into it? Researching, I mean."

Malfoy shifted on the cushion but appeared to relax a little.

"It seemed like the route to take. Originally, I received my Charms Certifications and I started with Swift Fantasticals," Malfoy explained, stabbing a chip with his fork and neatly eating it before continuing. "It was nothing exciting, but a good starting position."

"I've heard of them. Pretty big name in household items, right?" Harry asked, thinking of his self-cleaning pots and pans that had SF engraved on the handles, initials charmed to wiggle every time the item was touched.

Again, Malfoy primly waited until he'd finished chewing and swallowing before replying, and Harry didn't say anything about it but it was weird seeing someone eat finger food with a fork, much less eat one piece at a time.

"Yes, they're one of the largest companies for charmed conveniences."

"How did you move into Potions research?"

"Swift also has small branches in potions." Another pause for one bite. "The charms lab I worked in was shared with one of these potions labs. I can't tell you about the research they were doing, of course. It's all patented and hush-hush, but I found it very interesting and I've always been decent with potions, so…"

He shrugged and ate another chip, chasing it with a couple more gulps of beer.

"You had Potions Certifications, too?" Harry asked curiously, no elegance in the huge bite he took of his own lunch.

"No, but I worked toward the certifications I needed in the evenings and on weekends," Malfoy said, sitting a bit straighter and smiling behind his glass.

Harry couldn't blame him for being proud, and was actually quite impressed. From what he knew of it, getting certified in an area took a lot of time and knowledge, and only those pursuing research fields needed certifications. The average shop brewer in Diagon Alley typically wouldn't have even one certification.

"I intended to apply for a transfer, but one of my coworkers told me about an opening with Snyder Elixirs," Malfoy continued, and he'd finished his beer at some point when Harry wasn't looking. "I decided to apply and of course I got it. I was more than qualified for the position. I even took a pay cut, not that that matters."

Harry rolled his eyes and asked, "Why'd you take it then? Better holidays?"

"It's more freelance," Malfoy said with a casual shrug, his confidence unaffected by Harry's mocking tone. "I get to work from home, only have to go in for meetings on occasion, update in person what it is I am working on, speak to my bosses about getting Ministry approval for new methods."

Malfoy lifted his empty glass at a passing waitress, indicating he'd like a little more, and Harry frowned, again thinking of Romilda's Fowl.

"Er, yeah, you get to work at home, but don't you get lonely not seeing people?"

"Not seeing people?" Malfoy scoffed. "Potter, I see people _all_ _the time_. That's what nights and weekends and lunches with silly Aurors are for." He stabbed another chip and waved it at Harry. "Getting to be alone while I work is the best part of this job. You think I'd put up with _your_ lot breathing down my neck if I had to be crammed in a lab full of other potioneers?"

Malfoy bit the chip off the fork more forcefully than previous nibbles and didn't bother to finish chewing before speaking again, even cutting off Harry.

"Yeah, but you—"

"Oh, but _listen_ , Potter," he said, plopping elbow on the table as he leaned forward. "The _worst_ part of this job is the _uniform_."

The waitress stopped by then and set another full pint by Malfoy, who snatched it up and took several gulps.

"You have to wear a uniform?" Harry asked, eyeing the now half-empty beer.

" _Yes_. And it's this _awful_ brown frock of a thing. Potter, I looked _hideous_ in brown," Malfoy revealed, and appeared to finally acknowledge the sandwich waiting on his plate. Instead of simply eating it, he flicked off the top layer of bread and picked up the bacon strips underneath, munching on them as he continued to talk. "And I have to wear it whenever I go in, or if I'm representing the company in any way, like when I'm tasked with assisting local brewers."

Harry was bewildered. After all that prissy chip-eating with a fork, Malfoy was now planning to eat his sandwich, piece by piece, using his fingers, even licking them clean.

"Uniforms aren't that bad," Harry said, making a small noise when Malfoy dropped the bacon in favor of slurping on a tomato. "I don't mind _my_ uniform, anyway."

" _Ugh_ , you _don't_ understand," Malfoy complained, pausing to finish off his beer and slamming the emptied glass on the tabletop. "Potions certification cords are colourful and _baubled_ , and I _have_ to wear them with my uniform. _Potter_." He stared at Harry through suddenly watery eyes. "I look like the Gingerbread Man."

"Are you _drunk?_ " Harry asked, incredulous. He gaped as Malfoy shrugged indifferently, then, after a desperate glance at the other patrons, whispered, "You've only had two beers! They're not even that strong!"

Malfoy ignored him, talking loudly in the way that drunks did. " _And_ , Snyder advertises that they've a 'small town feel,'" he did a little wiggle as he quoted, "but who wants that? I mean, _honestly_. They're all _super_ friendly and chatty. And it's not like I can just avoid my coworkers, because hey! We all wear a _uniform_. So they instantly recognize me and they all think they can just come over and bother me whenever I'm out trying to buy ingredients and the like."

Harry stared. He didn't know about Malfoy's coworkers, but _someone_ was certainly getting chatty.

Unfazed by the lack of response, Malfoy kept going.

"This one time," he began and, amazingly, he was already all useless hand gestures by this point, "I _only_ went to a Snyder specific stocker because I was already out and about and it was close and I had about a gallon of liquid in my bladder, you just don't even _know_. I had to wee _so bad_. And on the way in, I got stopped _three_ times by three different people all saying the same thing." Malfoy leaned back and affected a stupid expression and voice. "'Hey Draco, how are you? Liking the new job? Just call me if you need anything.'" He went back to irritated. "As if I would! You know? Like I don't know how to do my job or something. I just wanted to say, like, leave me alone, I _have_ to _pee_ , you goddamn friendly _bastards_." An aggravated sigh. "But you can't say things like that when you _work_ with people."

"You certainly can't," Harry agreed, trying to keep a straight face—because, well, Code of Conduct. People were beginning to look their way and it wouldn't do for him to be laughing at, or with, a drunk in a public café. Robards would have his ass.

"What about _you_ , Potter? What have _you_ been doing?" Malfoy asked then, both elbows on the table now as he pinched at and fiddled with his food. "I figured you'd be Head Auror, or some such rot, but Vane says mine is your first project. What, still getting special treatment?"

"Ah, _there_ it is. How'd I know we'd come back to that eventually?" Harry asked, and then was a gasp too late to stop Malfoy from stealing what was left of his own beer.

Malfoy snorted lightly, eyeing Harry over the top of the glass.

"Yours is my first project because I'm not a Senior Auror yet," Harry explained, sighing as he nudged his half-finished lunch across the table after Malfoy glanced hungrily at it. He could only hope the food would prevent Malfoy from getting any drunker.

"Bullshit." Malfoy dragged the basket close and sifted through it. He narrowed his eyes as he sucked salt and vinegar from his thumb, releasing the appendage with a pop. "I don't believe that for a second."

"But I'm really not," Harry insisted.

"Then why are you on my project?"

"Funny, I've been asking myself that all morning."

Malfoy only hummed in response, distrustfully studying him again, and he finally realized that Malfoy didn't know how to respond to this situation any more than he did. Having a new Auror overseeing the project probably made Malfoy nervous, and that it was someone who he'd had trouble with in the past only compounded the frustration.

Harry put on his most earnest expression. "Listen, I'm going to learn what you're doing. Even if I _didn't_ find it as interesting as I do, it's still my job and I'd do it properly no matter what."

Seeing that Malfoy still wasn't entirely convinced, he sighed and added, "I know I'm not Auror Puce—er, _Adrian_ , who you've known for a long time, and I'm not even a Senior Auror, but I'm gonna do my best. Okay?"

Malfoy stared for a moment, having to slowly process what Harry had said.

"We should probably have this conversation again when you're not sloshed and will actually remember," Harry told him with another sigh.

"I'm _not_ sloshed," Malfoy denied, rolling his eyes. "I'll remember just fine, thank you very much." He then wiped his hands on a napkin as he began scooting out of the booth. "Come on then. Let's go."

"Uhh," Harry worriedly hurried after him, "Where are we going?"

"Where else?" Malfoy snapped, looking at Harry as if he were a moron for even asking. "Back to the Ministry, you dolt. How are you to know where to begin if I don't show you?"

"Er, Malfoy, maybe the Ministry isn't the best place for you to go right now," Harry advised, trying to give Malfoy a steadying hand but was shrugged off.

"Pshh, nonsense," Malfoy huffed, flapping an annoyed hand at Harry, like the Auror was a large bug. "I'm _fine_."

Having been shooed back a step, Harry could only wince when Malfoy fell over his own feet.

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Malfoy had gotten a lot drunker off two-and-a-half beers than Harry had initially believed and, to Harry's absolute mortification, subsequently announced to all of the Auror department that he liked—no, _adored_ —pickup lines, adding that if Harry wanted to get on his good side, he should invest in learning a few, as they always proved entertaining. This advice earned him snorted laughs and catcalls, assuring Harry that if he hadn't been the butt of many a joke before, he certainly would be now.

Eventually, he had managed to steer Malfoy toward his cubicle, confining the small space with a barrier charm to muffle any drunken, loud rambling. The numerous scrolls and parchment books which had been deposited on Harry's desk over the course of the morning were sorted through until Malfoy found any copied research that he deemed necessary for Harry to read. There was so much, Pucey had explained earlier, because, being the meticulous Senior Auror he was, he had taken excellent notes regarding everything about Malfoy's research. Malfoy didn't seem to agree.

"This is rubbish, don't need it," Malfoy mumbled as he tossed a few noted parchment books into Harry's vanishing bin, the action making Harry nervous. He looked irritated as he thumbed through a thick scroll. "Ugh, this can go. Why even make it in the first place?"

Harry caught the scroll before it, too, landed in the bin and carefully returned it to a box, saying, "Let's not throw anything out, yeah? Auror Pucey kept everything for a reason, after all." Seeing that Malfoy was about to complain, he quickly directed attention back to his desk, where the multitude of other scrolls and parchments were already waiting. "This should be a good place for me to start. Once I get through all of what you've already chosen, we can talk what's next, all right?"

"That's the _new_ research, fool," Malfoy rudely chided, sounding very much like Snape. "You can't read the new stuff until you've read the old stuff. You have to know where it's all coming from." He slapped a finger to Harry's mouth to shush any protest, practically stabbing Harry in the nose. "Yes it's important! Don't argue!"

"I know it's important," Harry said, gently pushing the finger away. "I was only going to suggest that I first get to know what you're doing _now_ so I can keep up, and then maybe fill in the holes as needed. Does that sound good to you?"

Malfoy appeared to think it over, then sighed dramatically.

" _Fine_. Have it your way," he said, flicking a surrendering hand.

"In the meantime," Harry continued, hoping to change the subject; he didn't want the pile on his desk to grow any larger. "Why don't we exchange our mobile port numbers? So you can contact me whenever you need me."

Malfoy primly stuck his nose in the air and, to Harry's surprise, sniffed, "I don't have a mobile Floo."

"What? Why not?" Harry inquired, genuinely curious. " _Everyone_ has a mobile Floo."

"Well I don't!" Malfoy denied, irritated. "Why would I? They're based off of muggle _science_." He harrumphed, folding his arms over his chest. "Give me a fireplace over that nonsense any day, thanks."

"Lots of things are based off of muggle technology—and mobiles are so convenient!"

"There's no one I need to talk to so bad that I can't wait 'til I get home."

Harry stared in disbelief, and then arched an eyebrow, saying, "You do know you sound like an old warlock, don't you?"

Malfoy gasped, jaw dropping.

"You take that back!" he breathed.

"What's next? Going to complain about how the Quidditch brooms are too fast nowadays?" Harry teased.

Malfoy was on him in a drunken leap—in that he stumbled toward Harry. "Take it back, I said!"

Harry laughed, easily deflecting as Malfoy was too wobbly to do any real harm. He grabbed Malfoy around the middle and pushed forward, overpowering the other man until he staggered and fell backwards into the desk chair with an _oof_.

"Just take a look," Harry said, pulling his mobile from his pocket and placing it in Malfoy's hands before he could protest. He suspected that Malfoy, being a researcher, was likely a lot more interested than he let on. "See? All you have to do is put in the port number and push this button and voila."

Malfoy studied the little fireplace-like device inquisitively, confirming that the idea of a mobile did appeal to him. He flipped it over, running a finger along the powder gauge.

"That's where you put the Floo powder," Harry explained. "Like with a real fireplace, if you don't have enough powder, it won't work."

"But you can't see the person you're talking to?" Malfoy said, more a statement than a question.

"No, but if you've powder in it, you can use it whenever, wherever," Harry answered. Seeing that Malfoy was doubtful, he provided an example, "So say you're in your lab, working, and something goes wrong. Like last night maybe? Instead of having to find a fireplace while you were hurt, you could've just pulled this out of your pocket and Flooed Pucey or sent him a Fowl and we'd've known to come."

"A foul?"

"Ah, that's just a nickname. It's called a Floo-owl, but it's like sending parchment through, except without an actual parchment, you know?"

If Malfoy understood what Harry meant he didn't say, only humming thoughtfully and continuing to study the mobile.

"I'm sure it's lovely," he said after a moment, handing it back to Harry, "but I don't really need one."

Harry smiled at Malfoy's reluctance. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know and I'll help you get one."

Malfoy didn't get a chance to reply, as the barrier around the cubicle wavered and Romilda's voice sharply and accusingly cut in:

"You let him drink."

Harry hesitantly glanced over his shoulder at the Enforcer, wilting under the force of her glare.

"Er, um, he insisted, you see…"

"Of the two of you, who is wearing the Auror robes and acting in an official authority capacity, hmm?" Romilda demanded. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose and said through gritted teeth, "I sent you a Fowl about this."

"It was only a couple beers. I didn't think it would hurt," Harry defended.

"A _couple?_ As in, _more_ than one? Oh _god_ , what a nightmare," she groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. Then, with a huff, "Listen Harry, your new child has a very strong _will_ and a very weak _won't_ , so you can't be a doormat, okay?"

"I'm not being a doormat," Harry protested, Malfoy simultaneously snapping, "I'm not a _child!_ " as he unsteadily rose to his feet.

"Then stop behaving like one!" Romilda said, ignoring Harry to chide Malfoy. " _I'm_ the Enforcer that's working with you, so when you show up here acting like a fool, _I'm_ the one that looks bad!"

"He's heading home now," Harry intervened, stepping between the two as they bared their teeth at one another. "He only came back to show me what to read, and we've done that, so I was just about see him home. Okay?"

" _Fine_ ," Romilda grumbled, tipping up on her toes to scowl over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy. "But don't let him speak to anyone else on the way out." She turned the glare on Harry. "I _warned_ you about mixing him and alcohol, so _this_ ," a gesture to Malfoy, "is _your_ problem for now. I'm too busy to do this today!"

"I know, I know," Harry placated, reaching up to soothingly rub her shoulders. "I wasn't going to bother you, I promise. You don't have to do anything."

Romilda sighed, finally relaxing a little.

"Ugh, get a room," Malfoy mumbled, eying them distastefully.

She instantly tensed again.

"Just get this idiot home before he embarrasses us further," she snapped at Harry, jerking away and spinning on her toe to march out of the cubicle.

"Like she's a sober drunk," Malfoy huffed, making Harry pause and then give him a funny look. Catching it, Malfoy clarified, "Have you ever gone drinking with her? _God_."

"You two get on well enough to go drinking together?" Harry asked, surprised, especially as he'd seen them do nothing but bicker.

"Of course we don't get along," Malfoy scoffed, "but that doesn't mean we can't go drinking."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's against Department policy," Harry said, dimly recalling that particular section in the Code of Conduct. "Her being the Enforcer assigned to your project, I mean. It's a conflict of interest."

Malfoy's eyebrows flew up. "Since when've _you_ been a stickler for the rules?"

Harry didn't answer, taken aback by the question, and found himself wondering the same thing as he escorted Malfoy to the lifts.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A happy shriek to Harry's left had his ears ringing but he politely ignored it, even doing his best to pretend he couldn't hear the toddler's tiny fists pounding on the high chair.

"No, I'm not a Senior Auror," he explained, voice rising to be heard over the racket. "It's just the one project, to help out with—"

"Ron, would you get him?" Hermione interrupted, briefly nodding at the baby that had started wailing for no apparent reason, only half-listening to Harry as she spooned small bits of spaghetti into Rose's unwilling mouth.

Ron snorted as he retrieved his bawling son and flatly stated, "So you're doing the work but not taking the pay raise."

"It's only temporary," Harry defended mildly.

"Sure it is," Ron said, unconvinced, gently bouncing Hugo up and down. He scowled over the top of the baby's head. "Why you don't just apply for the position? You know they'll give it to you. It's not like you haven't earned it."

Harry merely shrugged in response, not wanting to get caught in that disagreement again. They'd had it plenty of times already.

"Leave him alone, Ron," Hermione chided offhandedly, more focused on catching the sippy cup Rose attempted to throw. "Harry will do what he needs to do when he needs to do it."

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry said, grinning smugly at Ron.

"Of course, _now_ may be the time you need to do it," she continued in the same absentminded tone. "You've waited so long it may have even passed."

Ron took his turn at being smug.

"It hasn't passed," Harry sighed, obediently taking the sippy cup when it was forced into his hands and out of the reach of Rose. Seeing Ron about to comment, he quickly changed the subject, "Anyway, the project I'm overseeing is a research one, and guess who the researcher is?"

He grinned at them, thinking they'd be curious, but instead of immediate speculations, there was a long pause of nothing but one child giggling and the other crying. Hermione didn't look as if she'd even heard him and Ron, seeing that Harry was expecting some kind of response, just shrugged before returning to the baby, both parents too absorbed in their children to guess.

"Uh, it's Malfoy," Harry said, deflated.

Hermione's attention was still on Rose but Ron at least appeared surprised.

" _Draco_ Malfoy?" he asked.

"The one and only," Harry confirmed. "He works for Snyder Elixirs."

"He still a snotty little shit?"

And that Hermione _did_ hear, her hands flying over Rose's ears as she hissed, " _Ron!_ "

Ron smiled sheepishly at his wife.

"I really can't say yet," Harry answered honestly. Catching Ron's confused look, he tried to explain, "I don't know. It's kind of weird. I mean, it's been so long that it's almost like we're meeting for the first time, you know?" As a shrugged afterthought, "It probably doesn't help that he's been either doped up on pain potions or drunk the times we've talked."

"Well," Ron said, lifting the baby over his head in an attempt to entertain, "He's probably still a—" A warning look from Hermione. "Er, he's probably still annoying."

"It's getting late," Hermione stated then, effectively ending the conversation by standing and picking up a spaghetti-splattered Rose. "You should head home, Harry."

"It's only half past seven," Harry protested, bemusedly glancing at the wall clock. "On a Saturday."

"Rose needs to be in bed by eight and I've still got to get her through the bath," Hermione said, already heading for the doorway. She motioned for her husband to join her. "Ron, he's being fussy because he's tired. Check his nappy and then put him in the crib."

"Shall I stop by tomorrow?" Harry asked, quickly getting to his feet to follow them.

"Oh, we can't," Hermione apologized, pausing just at the base of the stairs and shifting Rose from one hip to the other. "I promised Madeline—you remember her, my office mate from Ireland? Anyway, she's got a little girl about Rose's age and I promised her Ron and I'd head to hers for the day."

"Well, what about next weekend? I could come during the week even," Harry suggested.

"Nah, we're spending next weekend at The Lookout. Department retreat thing," Ron scoffed, moving around Hermione to head upstairs first.

Hermione followed two steps before stopping to say, "Weeknights aren't a good time. What with juggling dinner and the kids…"

"Right, right," Harry said, holding up a hand in surrender.

Hermione gasped then, as if suddenly remembering something, "Wait. Where's Sheryl? She couldn't come tonight?"

"Er, we ended it over a month ago," Harry answered uncertainly. He was positive he had mentioned the breakup to Hermione. Although, in her defense, she had probably been changing a diaper at the time.

"Oh, that's too bad," Hermione said, no actual sympathy in her tone—Harry had always suspected that she didn't like Sheryl. She bounced Rose when the toddler began to make antsy noises. "What about the young man from Sports whom I introduced you to?"

"You mean Dylan?" Harry hid his grimace at the memory. "He's, uh, he and I didn't really hit it off."

"No?" Hermione asked distractedly, still trying to placate her daughter. "That's too bad."

"Yeah…"

"You'll find someone," Hermione promised, as though she was the authority on all things romance, and started up the stairs again. Her voice drifted behind her, "Well anyway, we'll make time to do this again soon. It's not like we never see each other."

Harry refrained from pointing out that they really didn't, not anymore.

Instead, he asked, "I'll see myself out then? Fowl me whenever you two've time?"

And received no response.

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As most projects were long-term ordeals, Harry hadn't put much thought to Malfoy's research, only reading through a few notes during his brief moments of free time. He knew very little about the researching process, but he figured new ideas would take a while to sort—like months and years. That reasoning in mind, he was rather surprised when Romilda rushed to find him a mere two weeks into his new role.

"Malfoy's got a problem," she breathed, tugging at Harry's arm while Parvati Patil looked on curiously.

"What kind of problem?" Harry asked, resisting, reluctant to leave his work just yet. He was only now gaining ground on a case he'd been working on for more than half a year.

"The kind where his Patronus doesn't make a lick of sense because he was shouting when he sent it!" Romilda snapped, giving him an extra hard tug.

Finally understanding the urgency, Harry quickly handed his suspect scrolls to Parvati, she being the Enforcer assigned to help him, and let Romilda drag him away as he begged, "I need background checks on the first three. Get me anything you can on the last one. If _any_ of them have a history of illegal trade, bring them in for questioning, no matter what."

Parvati nodded but was frowning, trailing behind a few steps to demand, "You've taken over Malfoy's project? Why didn't you tell me you'd been made a Senior Auror?"

"Because I haven't been!" Harry called back, hearing her return shout of, "Then why haven't you applied yet?" just as Romilda pulled him into the department's emergency apparition booth.

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Three hours later, Harry trudged into the St. Mungo's waiting room, skin raw and clothes popping with static from Romilda's effective cleansing spell, her thoughts having been that he shouldn't track a swamp into a hospital. It had taken a great deal of effort to subdue the accidentally created mud monster—or "The Gloop," as Malfoy had affectionately called it in his notes, back when it was just a tiny little thing—and even more strenuous work to clear the lab of everything toxic.

"Hello, Harry. A bit bedraggled there, eh?"

Turning, Harry smiled tiredly, holding out a hand. "Ernie. You're the Healer on duty today?"

"Every evening this week," Healer Macmillan replied, returning the smile as they shook. He quirked an eyebrow. "So you're taking over for Pucey? Those bigwigs down at Magical Law finally figured out they've got more use to put you to then?"

"I'm only stepping in for a bit, help ease the work load," Harry explained, trying to not let his exasperation with the topic show on his face. As a distraction, he gestured to the thick parchment book in Ernie's hands, assuming it was Malfoy's medical history. "He's got quite the record, I see."

Ernie nodded with a sigh, appearing genuinely worried about his patient. "He's as well known around here as you Aurors, always taking dangerous risks. He's going to get himself killed if he doesn't ease up a bit."

"Er, anyone ever try talking to him about that?"

"Anyone ever talk to _you?_ It's hard to get between a determined man and his ambition," Ernie said, smiling wryly, continuing before Harry could ask what he meant. "Well, I suppose you want to know what's wrong with him this time, yeah?"

At Harry's uncertain nod, he opened the parchment book and flipped through it, continuing, "Minor injuries on his arms, scratches, bruises, and the like. Ingested a bit of whatever made his creature so we had to clear his stomach—not a painless procedure, I assure you. No obvious damage other than that. You can take him home as soon as I look you over."

"Yeah, sure. I've got a few questions I need to ask him anyway," Harry said, falling in step beside the Healer.

Ernie let out a bark of a laugh, clapping Harry on the back. "Ah, no can do! We've already drugged him. You won't be getting anything but gibberish out of him today."

"Fantastic," Harry sighed, dimly wondering how Parvati was doing with the smuggling suspects. He'd received a few Fowls from her but hadn't given them more than a quick glance and he had a feeling he wouldn't have time to get around to responding anytime soon.

Ernie led him to a commons ward, curtained beds lining one wall, and ducked behind the third curtain, holding it open for Harry to follow. The small space only contained a tall stool, which Ernie immediately took, and a bed, where Malfoy was dazedly waiting. As stated, he indeed appeared long gone in a faraway place, unfocused eyes briefly passing over Harry. He was dressed in his own robes but his arms were wrapped from fingertips to shoulders, with small bandages on his face and his hair disheveled—all of it making him look like he'd been in a bar fight. He didn't seem to notice as Ernie scooted the stool closer to the bed.

"Draco, how are we feeling?" the Healer asked, waving his wand in front of his patient's face to draw attention. "Good?" Malfoy's head fell back onto the top of the pillow and he stared at the ceiling. "Good. Then you sit still and behave while I take a look at Harry."

Spinning to Harry, Ernie gestured for him to sit at the foot of the bed.

"All right," he said, tapping his wand twice on his knee, the tip immediately beginning to glow with light, "You know the routine. Look straight ahead."

Harry did as instructed, obediently following all subsequent commands. He'd sat though plenty of cursory medical checkups and stayed quiet through all the wand waving. When Ernie made it to the scrapes on his arms—gifts from a twig-growing Gloop—he flicked his wand at the curtain and, a second later, bandages, gauze, and a small, green container of some kind flew from in from the other side, landing in his waiting palms.

"This deeper one," he said, pushing up a frayed, bloodied robe sleeve and gently twisting Harry's arm to show where a particularly sharp branch had gouged along the side, "It might scar, but it won't be anything especially noticeable. I'm not going to close up any of these just yet, okay?"

Harry nodded, understanding. "In case something's in there."

"Yep. Wouldn't do to knit up the skin if you've one of Draco's potions in there," Ernie replied. At Harry's concerned look, he added, "Ah, don't worry, the poison check isn't showing anything, and the ingredients list Enforcer Vane sent over earlier didn't have anything on it that I'm especially worried about. Just keep an eye on the scratches and come back if one starts to look bad. I'll also prescribe you some antibiotics in case of infection. Lose the robe?"

Harry stood for a moment to remove his heavy Auror robe and the muggle t-shirt he wore underneath, tossing them over Malfoy's legs. Malfoy just blinked at the clothes, expressionless. Ernie looked over the few scratches on Harry's torso, none of them as nasty as the ones on his arms, and soon the Healer was uncapping the green container, revealing a white paste. Swirling his wand a bare centimeter above the surface, he drew the paste out of the container and smoothed it over Harry's cuts, making Harry hiss at the initial touch.

"Stings a bit, eh?" Ernie said with a small smile, though stayed focused on what he was doing, putting more over Harry's larger scrapes. Then he tapped his wand to the bandages and they began wrapping around the pasted wounds on their own, until Harry looked every bit as mummified as Malfoy. "This will help ease any pain and encourage cell growth. Unless there's something in the wounds, they should close up naturally over the next few days."

The Healer stood then, giving Harry a pat on the leg before flapping a hand at Malfoy, who continued to watch them quietly. "He's all yours. You're good to go."

"Thanks Ernie," Harry said, standing to tug his t-shirt back on but simply tucking his robe over an arm.

"I'll leave your prescription at the mediwitch station, along with Draco's. He can fill it if he needs to." Ernie lifted the curtain to leave, but paused to smile at Harry. "I'm glad to see you taking over his project. As odd as it sounds, I think you two will work well together. And if not, well," he shrugged, grinning, "at least it'll be fun to watch it burn."

"Ha, thanks," Harry replied with a small, embarrassed laugh.

"Well," Ernie said with a note of finality, "see you around, Mr. Senior Auror."

"Oh, I'm not—" Harry started, but stopped when the Healer disappeared beyond the curtain without a backwards glance. With a sigh, he turned back to Malfoy, finding that the man hadn't budged an inch, still blearily blinking like his head was swimming. Harry suspected it was.

"Come on then," he said, gently pulling Malfoy's feet toward the edge of the bed. "Time to go. Get your shoes on."

The bed frame squeaked as Malfoy quietly did as commanded, carefully easing his legs over the side of the bed to the floor where his shoes waited. He paused for a second, turning back to Harry, but a simple nod of assurance had him leaning over to put on his shoes, blond hair falling in his face. Politely, Harry held it back for him, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the tired lines around them, and wondered how long it had been since Malfoy had gotten a decent bit of rest. Or, at least, decent rest that wasn't forced by a healing potion.

Once finished, Malfoy moved to stand, brushing Harry's hand away like a child, or perhaps a cat, that no longer wanted to be touched.

"Malfoy," Harry said, looking down, "Your shoes are on the wrong feet."

Malfoy also glanced down at his shoes, inspecting them. After a long moment, he lifted his head and stared suspiciously at Harry.

Harry stared back, not quite sure what to make of his expression.

"I don't have any other feet," he then croaked.

"Fair enough," Harry breathed, and was able to swallow back a laugh but couldn't contain a smile.

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Harry was up and heading into work before dawn the following day, anxious to see what Parvati had gathered on his suspects. The Ministry was mostly empty at that hour, though he passed a few other early risers on his way to the lifts. Five Enforcers were huddled around a desk when he arrived at level two, all of them clutching coffee mugs and looking as though they'd been hauled from bed, but they spared him no more than quick nods as he strode by, their focus on whatever it was that had called them in.

As the first Auror to arrive, Harry only flicked the _lumos_ lights of the row above his cubicle, still not fully awake enough himself to want anything too bright. Once the coffee was set dripping, he dropped behind his desk and unrolled his case scrolls, pulling out a few parchments for scratching notes. He barely noticed as the hours passed and more and more of his coworkers began to drag in. He could have continued that way for the rest of the morning if it weren't for the abrupt arrival of the post.

A rolled newspaper and several letters landed in the center of the desk with a loud plop, startling Harry out of his work haze and causing him to break the tip of his quill, ink blotting onto his notes below. With a muttered curse, he tossed the broken quill and quickly mopped at the spill. His handwriting was already illegible enough, even to him; he really didn't need help in making it more so.

Work interrupted, he decided it was a good time to refill his mug. It was later in the morning than he'd realized, as most cubicles were now occupied. Harry nodded to those that greeted him, and he thought it might be his imagination but he could have sworn that some of them were giving him pitying smiles, a few even patting him encouragingly on the back as they passed. It was until Savage approached him in the break room that he knew why.

"Don't let the babble get to ya, Harry," she said, slinging an arm around his shoulders, an awkward gesture due to their height difference. "Ya know that Skeeter's always lookin' to stir up gossip. Anyone who knows ya, knows you're worth anythin' ya gain. An' no one reads the dailies anyway."

"Er, thanks," Harry said, smiling uncertainly when she gave him a squeeze. As soon as she trotted off, he dumped his mug in the sink, forgetting any ideas of coffee, and dashed back to his desk. That morning's _Prophet_ was still sitting were the post owl had dropped it, and he snatched it up, unrolling it to the front page, stomach twisting at the headline splashed across it.

 

**_POTTER MAKES SENIOR AUROR_ **

_Despite his young age, Harry Potter has been gifted the position of Senior Auror. Though not the youngest Auror to achieve the title, one must recall that the Ministry of Magic has made multiple accommodations for the Boy-Who-Lived, including dismissing charges of educational neglect for failing to complete his seventh year of schooling, and allowing him into the Auror program without completing his N.E.W.T.s—a privilege that many protested, as I'm sure my devoted readers recall._

_Of course, it is not the intention of this reporter to refute that Harry Potter has not achievements behind him, simply that perhaps one should continue to strive for additional accomplishments rather than relying on the previous ones and the popularity of one's name to further one's career._

_\--Continue reading on pg 3B; POTTER DESERVING OF TITLE?_

 

Harry flung the paper at his rubbish bin, not even daring to read whatever else Rita Skeeter had to say, and dropped his head into his hands, groaning, " _God_. I'm not even— _ugh_."

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Lunch came and went, as did friendly encouragements, though the whispers behind hands and curious stares certainly outnumbered the kind words. Harry ate so fast he barely chewed, willing to accept the possibility of choking to death over having to stay any longer than necessary in the Ministry cafeteria. It seemed no matter the age of the crowd, they were always ready to gossip and sneer.

Not that Harry met anyone's eyes, keeping his own downcast as he chucked his tray and stalked out. He'd rather not see the looks, thanks.

No one approached him on his way back to Magical Law, though he suspected the tight, grumpy expression he wore may have been the cause. Still, it was easier than having to make small talk and force smiles, having to explain and justify and answer all the questions he was sure would be asked.

So focused was he on ignoring everyone that he didn't notice the person standing impatiently by his cubicle until another Auror shouted, "Oi! Malfoy! Were your ancestors thieves?"

Harry abruptly stopped walking in shock, head snapping up in time to see Malfoy's arms unfold from across his chest to clench into fists at his side, livid, his back tensing.

"Well," Williamson continued, having been the one that called out. " _Someone_ had to steal the stars from the sky and stick them in your eyes."

Snorted chuckles came from all corners of the room. Malfoy paused on the verge of retorting, expression changing from fury to confusion as he cocked his head and searched for words. Equally confused, Harry glanced at Williamson, hoping to get a clue, but found the Senior Auror smirking.

"Malfoy!" Savage called, grinning just as madly. "Can I borrow a kiss? I promise to give it right back!"

Another round of muffled hilarity, someone following up with a wolf whistle, and all at once people began shouting.

"Oi, Malfoy! Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

"Hey, hey! I'm no photographer but I can picture us together!"

"If beauty were time, you'd be eternity, Malfoy!"

"Oh man, do your legs hurt? From running through my dreams all night, I mean."

"You look cold! Wanna use me as a blanket?"

Malfoy appeared overwhelmed by it all, head whipping around and eyes owlish wide, mouth dropped, as more and more people joined in, even the Enforcers that were sprinkled about. Having realized what was going on, Harry couldn't hold back a bark of laughter at the surprise on Malfoy's face, bad mood easing a little with each poorly given pickup line.

"All right, all right. That's enough," Pucey said, suddenly appearing by Malfoy's side and holding up a hand to stop the chatter, even as his own mouth was quirked in amusement. "This isn't a pub."

There were a few boos and some shared laughter over muttered jokes but soon enough the commotion settled as everyone moved back into their afternoon routines.

Harry chuckled quietly to himself, remembering a few lines he especially liked, trying not to grin too widely as he walked over to his cubicle. Pucey nodded at him as he approached before turning to go back to his own work.

"What was all that about?" Malfoy asked as he followed Harry into the small cubicle, still quite befuddled though seemingly not upset.

"Well, you did reveal to the whole Department that you have a thing for pickup lines the last time you were here," Harry explained as he moved some scrolls off his guest chair to make room.

"Oh," Malfoy said, eyes moving as he thought about it, taking the offered seat. "I suppose that's true, yes. They are rather entertaining."

"Indeed," Harry agreed with a hum.

"Though some of them need not be so offensive," Malfoy scoffed, expression momentarily souring.

Unsure how to respond, Harry said nothing.

"Anyway," Malfoy continued, waving it off, "You must be wondering why I am here."

"To answer some questions, I hope," Harry replied, fetching a fresh parchment from his drawer. "I still need to do the follow-up from yesterday."

Malfoy grimaced. "No, no, nothing like that."

Harry gave him a funny look. "Er, then why are you here?"

"To discuss the next phase of my research," Malfoy said. He casually leaned back in the chair and inspected his robes for lint before looking at Harry again, expression guarded. "As it will involve various class two wartplants, and one class four toxin, an Auror presence must be maintained throughout the procedure." He rolled his eyes. "For safety reasons."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling his stomach give a nervous turn. He'd read a little about supervising the research but was still quite unfamiliar with all of the procedure. "You, uh, you've already been approved for those ingredients?"

" _No_ ," Malfoy said slowly, giving Harry a reproving glare as he pulled two scrolls from his pocket and placed them on the desk. "Not yet. That's the other reason I am here, to turn in my paperwork for you to sign."

Harry scratched at the scruff he hadn't bothered to shave that morning, feeling like a dunce. "I see. And, um, how soon do you plan to start… this?"

"As soon as I finish cleaning up the wreck you lot made of my lab," Malfoy sniffed.

"Hey, that _wreck_ happened because of _your_ pet Gloop," Harry protested, pointing the quill feather at him accusingly.

Malfoy snorted but didn't deny the allegation, instead saying, "I should be ready to start by Saturday afternoon."

"Saturday, huh," Harry murmured thoughtfully, glancing down at the procurement scrolls, wondering just how long it took for such things to go through the channels.

As if reading his mind, Malfoy said, "I've put in requests for all plants before and they were each approved. Therefore, it should go much quicker this time, as well as give you a reference to study."

Harry ducked his head to hide his embarrassment at being caught out. "Yeah, uh, I'll see what I can do." Then, as he thought of his current case, "Saturday might be… Well, is there anything else you can work on in the meanwhile if I can't free up time for Saturday?"

"Potter," Malfoy huffed as he rose from the chair, "there are _always_ other assignments I can work on. However, the sooner I can begin what I _want_ to research, the better."

"All right then," Harry said, standing as well. "I'll do what I can to make time."

"Yes, of course."

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Harry wondered if ought to offer his hand for a shake on their agreement, but he had the feeling they had missed the opportunity to get such formalities started.

Malfoy took a breath, like he was about to speak, but then just sort of gestured in that, "I've gotta go," kind of way before turning on his toe and leaving with a hurried stride.

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Saturday came and Harry was far from closing his case. Still, there wasn't much he could do until the Enforcers returned with the requested information on his leads—something they certainly weren't going to do on a weekend—and so he closed his scrolls, pushing them aside for the time being.

Malfoy's ingredients had indeed been approved with quick efficiency and, like he had stated, Harry was able to use Pucey's previous procurement parchments as examples. Malfoy had sent an Owl stating what time to arrive—2 PM—and what protective clothing to wear—trousers under long-sleeved robes and close-toed, nonporous shoes. As it had been a while since Harry had received anything by Owl other than fan and hate mail, he almost hadn't bothered to open the letter but had luckily recognized the Malfoy crest; he really wished Malfoy would get a mobile.

He Flooed to Malfoy's home at half one, notes he'd taken while reading the guidelines for observation tucked under one arm. He knew he was a wee bit early, but Malfoy's Owl had also informed him of the nature of the research—a potential healing potion for wide scale use against magically infectious disease—and it sounded rather interesting, making him curious and antsy.

If Malfoy was surprised to see Harry so soon, he didn't appear so, merely striding into the parlor and saying, "I've started the _Goomla nimu_ in a cast iron. A gentle boil will cause the outer skin, which is toxic, to fall off, and then I can begin."

He motioned for Harry to follow him.

"I suppose I should start the cursory checks," Harry said, trying to sound authoritative and not to phrase it like a question, as he was still a little unsure about his role. He'd read that an inspection of the lab and its contents must be performed before the start of the research, and hoped that Malfoy didn't treat him like a fool if he did or said something wrong.

But Malfoy only nodded and said, "Yes, of course. If you need anything, call for Tinvel. I will be in my office."

He slipped into the small room attached to his lab, leaving Harry alone, for which the Auror was grateful. Having to frequently check one's notes for instruction was moderately less embarrassing when no one was around to see.

Harry eased around the lab, observing where the emergency first aid and spill kits were located. In various cabinets, flammable and not, ingredients were sorted by type to avoid contamination or negative reactions, and then alphabetically for organization. All in all, it appeared Malfoy practiced good habits, but Harry wondered if perhaps he should have asked for Pucey's opinion.

He shrugged at the thought; too late now.

A timer dinged on the counter, and a second later Malfoy exited his office, gently closing the door behind himself. He spared only a quick glance at Harry, moving to don what Harry assumed to be his lab gear: a flame-retardant lab coat, an apron, rubber gloves, and a face shield.

"Am I good to stand here?" Harry asked, a few paces away.

"You're fine," Malfoy said, eyes on the cast iron cauldron as he dipped metal tongs into the bubbling water.

A yellow root of some kind was clenched in the tong's grasp when he pulled them out, the outer skin of which was nicely peeling off, just as Malfoy had stated it would. He carefully set the steaming root on a cutting board and delicately removed the inner part of the root, which was white, setting it aside with a set of other ingredients that had already been cut into perfectly equal pieces.

"Okay," he breathed, turning to Harry. "If you've nothing to ask, I'd like to start."

"Go for it," Harry said, stepping a little closer while still keeping a safe distance.

And so began his first observation.

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"You honestly don't need to watch this part."

The sentence was said impatiently, the look in Malfoy's eyes exasperated.

"Er, I know," Harry said, rubbing at his tired eyes. It had been five hours since they'd started. "I was just curious, is all."

"Yes, well, you're making me nervous with all your hovering," Malfoy mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Sweat matted his hair under the face shield, trickling down the back of his neck. Just looking at him under all that protective gear made Harry hot.

"Oh," Harry said, trying not to sound disappointed. "There's nothing I can do to help?"

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, easing a stirring rod through the gently rolling lavender potion.

"You can't help with the actual production," Malfoy said. He glanced at Harry with a shrug. "Company bylaws. The fewer people on the patent, the better. But you can always help Tinvel clean the glassware."

"Sure, okay," Harry agreed, turning to where the elf was hunched over a deep sink, standing tiptoe atop a stool. The little creature eeped and blinked at him in surprise as he joined. He briefly watched her technique for cleaning, then grabbed a brush and tried to do the same, aware of when he missed a spot because she would wring her hands and stare at it. He was just beginning to think that helping her was more stressful than letting her work when Malfoy spoke again.

"This will take a while to finish, so I'm going to grab a shower and dinner," he said, flicking a protective spell around the cauldron before removing his gear. "You're, um, welcome to join." A pause. "For dinner, I mean."

"It'll be fine on its own?" Harry asked, mentally debating whether the red on Malfoy's cheeks was from the heat or from embarrassment. It entertained him to think it was the latter.

"Yes, it will be fine, but I've alarms in place should that not turn out to be correct," Malfoy explained, rolling back the narrow sleeves of his robe. "Fell free to start dinner without me. I won't be long."

"Sure."

Harry washed a few more flasks before drying his hands and stepping away, though it was a wasted effort as Tinvel immediately dumped everything he'd cleaned back into the sink for another scrub. Her back was to him so he couldn't be sure, but Harry had the feeling she was glaring and he decided not to get in her way again.

The dining room was neatly decorated, with landscape paintings in simple but not plain frames on one wall and large windows on the other, French doors between them that Harry knew opened to the flower garden—Romilda had given him a tour the first night they'd helped Malfoy home. The table was set, steaming food already waiting on platters, and he took a seat at one end when another house-elf, one much older than Tinvel, motioned him toward it. As Harry began to fill his plate, the house-elf reached up and placed a newspaper by his elbow.

"For reading," she wheezed with a bow.

"Oh, thanks," Harry said, noticing the way she wrinkled her nose at the expressed gratitude. Then the headline caught his eye, the paper more than a couple days old, and he scowled, quickly flipping it over. His first childish thought was that _Malfoy_ had asked the elf to give it to him, but the pleased sneer on the creature's face made him suspect the vindictiveness was hers alone, reminding him of Kreacher.

A little while later, when Malfoy strode into the room, fresh and clean and smelling lightly of eucalyptus, Harry said, "I don't think your elves like me."

"Well of course they don't. You're not—" Malfoy abruptly cut off, jaw snapping shut, and he tentatively looked at Harry, as though worried of the repercussions for potentially offending. When Harry didn't do much more than stare flatly back at him, he finished quietly, "You're not Adrian. They only need to become accustomed to you, is all."

Harry scoffed but didn’t argue.

They ate in silence for a long while, only the noises of clinking utensils between them. The food was good but Harry had a hard time enjoying it with the older house-elf watching his every move. Her sharp, condemning eyes narrowly followed each bite until Harry was on the verge of losing his appetite.

It was Malfoy, however, who slammed his utensils onto the table a moment later, startling Harry into looking at him.

"Listen," he started, eyes on the tabletop while he organized his thoughts before lifting them to meet Harry's gaze. "I don't know how I'm supposed to behave around you."

Harry blinked at him. "Er…"

"I feel like there's all this… _history_ that I'm supposed to acknowledge, or _care_ about, but I am having a hard time even recalling most of it," he continued, sitting up a little straighter like he was defiant of whatever Harry's answer might be. "It hasn't been forever, but it has been long enough, and I—"

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted, "I don't really know how to act around you now either."

"Oh?" Malfoy asked, pushing his hair behind his ear in a nervous gesture.

"Yeah, so let's just forget what we're _supposed_ to do and think and just—" Harry waved a vague hand, ignoring the old elf's derisive snort. "Let's just do whatever comes naturally and not worry about it."

"Oh," Malfoy repeated, thinking it over. He forced a small, quick smile as he picked up his utensils again. "Okay then. Whatever comes naturally."

"Yeah, just be natural," Harry decided, also returning to his dinner. To keep them from falling back into the previous uncomfortable silence, he continued, "So then, tell me about The Gloop. What were you making? Or intending to make, that is."

"You don't know?" Malfoy asked, genuinely surprised.

"Er, I haven't had a lot of time to read everything, and Romilda said it wasn't a priority," Harry stammered, Malfoy's disappointed look making him feel ashamed for not having done his homework.

"Oh. Well. I created The Gloop by making the same thing I am tonight."

Harry almost dropped his knife in surprise. "Wait, what? But you didn't have the permissions before. Did you?"

"No, I didn't need permission since I was using less potent ingredients before, which I suspected wouldn't bring the reaction to completion," Malfoy said, and now that Harry was looking, he could see that Malfoy was every bit as prim and proper as the first time he'd seen the man eat—before the beer, of course. Harry also noted that he only had water to go with his dinner. "The Gloop was a side-effect of the reaction not finishing." A smile. "It was rather endearing when it was smaller, mind you."

Harry scoffed lightly, deciding not to touch that subject, and took care to finish his own bite before asking, "If you didn't think it'd work, then why the weaker ingredients?"

"Because it's business as much as it is research."

"How's that?"

"For instance, if an equal or similar counterpart can be created via cheaper ingredients or less time, then a larger profit is yielded for Snyder and its stockholders," Malfoy explained. "Therefore, I am advised and expected to explore those avenues first in the event that such a product could be produced."

"Well yeah, but shouldn't that be the second step? After you've created a breakthrough potion, I mean," Harry asked, waving a bit of food around on the tip of his fork, much to the grimaced displeasure of the house-elf. "Wouldn't you first want to create the best possible version? Wouldn't that be the greatest discovery?"

"That is ideal, but it's also naïve, Potter," Malfoy said with a disheartened sort of fake smile. "The only thing that matters to companies is the bottom line. They're not out to help people. What they want is money."

"But their products exist for the purpose of helping."

Malfoy shook his head. "Right now, there are potions that have been created which target and drastically reduce cancerous cells, but you won't find them at St. Mungo's or being made into muggle pills. Not because they've bad side-effects or are otherwise dangerous, but simply because the companies wouldn't make enough profit off of them."

Harry didn't know what to say beyond, "That's awful."

"Of course it is," Malfoy said quietly, pushing greens around on his plate. "That's why those of us in research do our best to find what's beneficial to both the company and the public."

Harry studied Malfoy curiously, getting the feeling that there was something he wasn't being told. He was the one who had stated they shouldn't dwell on the past, and even Romilda had commented that people change, which he fully agreed with, but he also knew people didn't really change that much. He couldn't shake the niggling feeling that Malfoy had motives other than altruism.

Still, Harry had no proof, just a gut feeling, and even if Malfoy was searching for some miracle potion for his own benefit, at least he was helping people along the way.

For the time being, Harry decided to leave it alone.

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Romilda plopped her arse on his desk bright and early Monday morning, crossing one leg over the other and smirking as she asked, "Well? How did your first sleepover go?" She winked at his surprised look. "That's right, I heard. You. Spent. The night!"

"On the lab couch," Harry said dryly, cutting off her girlish giggle with a quick _muffliato_ and frowning as he glanced around to see if anyone might have overheard. His concern only made her roll her eyes.

"Relax, it's hardly untoward, you prude. I've stayed over with him plenty of times," she scoffed. "The experiments run long more often than not. How did it go?" Another smirk. "His potion, that is."

"It didn't work," Harry said, somewhat dejected on Malfoy's behalf.

"It rarely does," Romilda replied with a shrug. Seeing Harry's frown deepen, she reassuringly added, "Don't worry about it. He'll reevaluate his notes, find some error he didn't notice before, and try again. That's what researchers do. They can't solve all the world's problems in one go. These things take time."

"True," Harry agreed, recalling how Malfoy had been disappointed but not discouraged, mumbling to himself as he'd gone back into his office with his notes, already prepared to start over.

"So?" Romilda asked, "How was working with him? Any fighting?"

"It wasn't bad," Harry answered honestly. Malfoy had mostly been focused on his work, only occasionally calling on Harry to sign his lab notebook as a witness or to confirm that his methods did indeed follow safe-work protocol. "We didn't talk much, but I was trying not to get in his way, you know?"

"Hm, that's a surprise," Romilda said thoughtfully, studying Harry curiously. "As stubborn as you two are, I figured you'd be at each other's throats, like when you were twelve."

Harry snorted, slumping back in his chair and folding his arms as he gave her a warning look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but we're not twelve anymore."

"It can be hard to tell sometimes," Romilda lightly teased, smiling. "Is he going to try again then?"

Harry shrugged.

"I guess he'll let me know if he does."

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Malfoy did indeed contact Harry again, by that evening in fact, though it wasn't at all for the reasons Harry expected.

He was finishing up the last of his reports, lingering past normal hours to double-check his work as stated in procedure, when Proudfoot tapped on his cubicle wall, saying, "Potter, there's an emergency Floo for you. Fireplace two."

And of course he sprinted to the Department fireplaces, heart clenching in his chest, because no one emergency Flooed him unless it was really important—like the time Hugo had decided to be born three months early, or when Ginny had been bludgeoned off her broom at the Quidditch World Semifinals, or when Luna had tangled with Scoobles or Boobles or whatever the hell those creatures had been (no one actually saw them).

But it wasn't any of that. It was only Malfoy, looking impatient and annoyed but green enough around the edges that Harry wasn't too exasperated to see him.

"What is it?" Harry asked, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

Malfoy didn't quite meet Harry's eyes as he grumbled, "I asked for Vane."

"She's already gone," Harry huffed, moderately offended, and then repeated more forcefully, "What _is_ it?"

"…I tested that potion," Malfoy reluctantly admitted.

"What potion?" Harry demanded, confused. "Wait, the one we made Saturday night? That potion?"

Malfoy tsked, finally looking at Harry with a glare. "The one _I_ made Saturday night, yes."

"I thought it failed?" Harry said, choosing to ignore the petulance.

"It failed to become what I intended," Malfoy clarified, frowning, "but that doesn't mean it didn't become any—"

He cut off with a hissed gasp, eyes squeezing shut as if in pain, and then seemed to try relaxing himself by taking deep breaths.

Realization dawned with horror in Harry.

"Malfoy," he said sternly, "Tell me you did not _drink_ that potion."

"All of the toxins should've been nullified, so it's not like it's poisonous," Malfoy answered through clenched teeth, and then whimpered in pain.

"It's an experimental mixture!" Harry chastised, appalled, wishing Malfoy weren't just a bobbing head in a fireplace so he could smack some sense into the man—who was supposed to be an experienced, intelligent researcher. "You have no idea what its effect could be!"

"Which is why I drank it!" Malfoy snapped, eyes flying open as he scowled at Harry. "I have to know what I've created!"

"Oh you really _don’t!_ And even if you did, there are other methods of—"

"Would you stop bitching at me and just get over here?" Malfoy half-growled, half-whined. Then, for no reason at all and to Harry's absolute horror, he burst into tears, weeping out, "I've had this _terrible_ day and all you do is _shout!_ "

"What the hell," Harry breathed, frantically checking the hall for anyone else, because someone must be having a go at him. This _had_ to be a prank. But there was no one jumping out to yell, "Surprise!" or clapping him on the back with a laugh—it was just him and Malfoy, who was bawling like a newborn.

"Hey, er, look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Harry hurried to say, affecting his most soothing tone. "I didn't mean to, uh, hurt your feelings or anything."

"No?" Malfoy asked with a sniff. "Honest?"

"Honest!" Harry assured.

All at once the tears ceased and in their place, one of the most vicious glowers Harry had ever had leveled at his person.

"Then get the _fuck_ over here already!"

Malfoy cut the connection before Harry's ears had time to stop ringing from his shriek.

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Harry had seriously debated leaving the fool researcher to suffer—surely the self-poisoning wouldn't be _fatal_ —but found himself ducking out of Malfoy's parlor fireplace soon enough, sighing as he straightened and dusted off his robes. Malfoy was his responsibility now and Harry Potter didn't shirk responsibilities, no matter what the papers said.

Almost immediately there was a pop and a small hand slipping into his. Tinvel didn't speak to him, didn't even look at him, merely tugging until he had to follow for fear of toppling over or having his arm popped out of socket. She dragged him past the potions lab, where he had assumed Malfoy would be, to the end of the hall where a normally closed door was now wide open.

A high-pitched wailing coming from within the room momentarily had Harry's stomach dropping in dread as he and Tinvel approached—because, _god_ , if Malfoy was crying again—but then he heard Malfoy shout, "For the love of Merlin, Gretch, stop it! You're getting on my last nerve."

Tinvel pulled Harry through the doorway just as the older house-elf bawled, "Oh, Master! Master Draco is _dying!_ " and blew her large, crooked nose on what appeared to be an old pillowcase. Then, noticing Harry, she let out a heartbroken groan and cried, "No! The dirty half-blood has come to take Master away!"

"Oh hush, he's not taking me anywhere," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes at the distraught elf as he crunched on a pickle, appearing perfectly unharmed and healthy.

"I might," Harry corrected, sending Gretch into another, louder round of sobs and earning an irritated look from Malfoy. Harry took a quick assessment of the new room—standard kitchen, no discernible points of entry beyond the one behind him, unless one was counting the windows—and then walked to where Malfoy sat at the island counter.

"Don't look at me like that," Malfoy said of Harry's flat expression, and took another pickle from the open jar next to him. He shrugged nonchalantly. "I wasn’t feeling well when I called you."

"It was five minutes ago, if that," Harry snapped, frustrated.

"Well I wasn't feeling well _five minutes ago_ ," Malfoy huffed. He shrugged again. "Now I do."

"Master is dying!" Gretch wailed, interrupting them. "Oh what is ol' Gretch to do? My lovely Master!"

"She is to shut it is what!" Malfoy barked but otherwise ignored her cries.

"How long ago did you take the potion? Have you tried a bezoar?" Harry asked over the din.

Malfoy scoffed, looking at Harry like _he_ was the fool. "A bezoar? I already told you Potter, the toxins were removed during the steaming process. There's nothing to poison me."

"How long ago did you take it?" Harry demanded again.

"Last night."

"Last night!" Harry yelped. "And you've only _now_ contacted me?"

"Well it didn't start out that bad!" Malfoy responded indignantly. "I didn't even feel a thing when I drank it. Then I went to bed and I woke up this morning feeling a little nauseous."

"And you didn't think that you should do anything about it?"

"It was a little nausea, not the end of the world!"

"He threw up!" Gretch moaned, getting their attention, Harry's concerned and Malfoy's betrayed. "Gretch's cooking was so bad, Master threw up at the sight of it! Oh ol' Gretch! What is to become of you? Can't even make Master Draco happy!"

"Gretch! Shut it!" Malfoy growled at the elf, to no effect. Then to Harry he explained, "It was the smell. I always love her fish puffs but this morning the smell was just too much." He sent a glare at the elf as he retrieved another pickle. "It's not my fault she cooked them wrong this time."

Gretch shrieked in despair.

"Tinvel! Get her out of here already!" Malfoy ordered of the silent elf, who appeared to sigh without really sighing before taking the older elf by the hand and popping them both out of the kitchen. Gretch's tears could still be heard from above them but were at least muffled.

"You eat fish puffs for breakfast?" Harry asked, scandalized and still hung up on the notion, then held up a hand to stop Malfoy from answering when he realized they were digressing. "Forget it. Aside from nausea, what else have you been experiencing? You seemed in a lot of pain earlier."

"Oh, that? That was just some stomach cramps," Malfoy said indifferently around the pickle. "They've been coming and going for the last couple hours or so." As an afterthought to himself, he murmured, "Though they do seem to be increasing in frequency."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to halt the headache before it got worse. "Malfoy…"

"Well it's not like that's the worst part, Potter—"

"Oh god, what else?"

"Look at this!" Malfoy stuck a leg out for Harry to see. "My feet have been swelling and I don't know why! And I've just felt… _heavy_. Like I'm carrying a lot of extra weight around even though I'm _not_."

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. "You need to see a Healer, Malfoy."

Malfoy snorted, expression telling Harry exactly what he thought of that idea, and went for another pickle—only to find the jar full of nothing but juice. He looked confused for a moment, and then shrugged and picked up the jar, tipping it back to drink the greenish liquid.

Harry pulled a face, disgusted.

"Don't judge me!" Malfoy snapped, slamming the jar onto the counter. "I've been craving salty stuff for _hours_."

"Maybe that's why your feet are swelling," Harry muttered, and continued over Malfoy's insulted huff, "I really wish you'd have contacted me _before_ taking that potion."

Malfoy waved him off. "By the time the owl had reached you, I'd've already taken it."

"A perfect example of why you should get a mobile," Harry said, Malfoy rolling his eyes in response.

"Don't start with that nonsense," he snapped. "A regular fireplace is just—"

Like before, he cut off with a hiss, his arms immediately tightening around his middle as he doubled over, forehead pressing to the granite counter. Harry was by his side in an instant, worried but uncertain how to help. He tentatively placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Ugh, this part hurts," Malfoy groaned quietly, the color draining from his face.

"You can't ignore it anymore," Harry insisted, again using soothing tones rather than exasperated ones. "Do you have a personal Healer I can contact?"

"It's not that big a deal, Potter," Malfoy weakly ground out between clenched teeth.

"Look, Malfoy," Harry said, crouching so that Malfoy could see him. "I'm worried about you. You're in pain, so that can't be good. Just let me help you. I hate seeing anyone like this." Earnestly, he added, "I hate seeing _you_ like this."

Malfoy peeked one eye at him, then squeezed it shut as he shuddered against another wave of pain—and then he started to cry.

"Oh, okay, we're doing this again," Harry breathed, moving his hand to awkwardly rub Malfoy's back.

"No, it's not—" Malfoy hiccupped. "I'm just, for some reason, really _happy_."

Harry blinked at him. "Huh?"

"I don't know!" Malfoy barked, then gasped on another sob before explaining, "When you said that, I suddenly felt really, really happy! And I don't know why!" He sat up a little straighter, tears streaming down his face even as he fought a smile, moaning out, "Potter what is wrong with me? Why am I so happy? I can't stop crying!"

"You know what?" Harry replied, feeling completely out of his depth, "I have no clue, but we're going to St. Mungo's. _Right now_."

Malfoy alternated between elated tears and pained cringes the whole way to the hospital.

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"It's simple," Padma said, standing at the foot of Malfoy's bed, parchment charts in hand and not at all trying to hold back her grin. "You're in labor."

"What?" the men asked simultaneously, Harry shocked and Malfoy skeptical.

"At least, that's what your brain believes," Padma continued, moving around the bed so she could wave her wand over Malfoy's midsection. A transparent picture formed from the tip like a drop of water, showing Malfoy to have normal intestines and internal organs, no trace of a womb or child. Padma dispelled the image with a flick. "Of course there's nothing truly there. You'd certainly be in the history books if you'd managed _that_ , but whatever you've taken has considerably messed with your neurons and hormones."

This time, a series of wand movements had what looked like a spider web of lightning forming over Malfoy's head. The electrical charges appeared erratic and the web trembling.

"Is this bad?" Harry asked, concerned, gesturing to the disorganized bursts.

"Some of it's a bit concerning, but believe it or not, your brain wouldn't look much different," Padma replied with a teasing tone, again dismissing the picture with a swish.

"So he's not actually hurt, he just thinks he is?"

"Precisely."

"What the hell does that mean?" Malfoy croaked. "It certainly feels like I'm hurt!"

Padma smiled kindly at him, even brushing his sweaty hair out of his face. "It means, you don't have a uterus, much less one that is undergoing contractions, so what you are feeling is phantom pains created by your brain. It's truly quite phenomenal—a man experiencing pregnancy and labor! You've stumbled upon an amazing potion."

"Sounds like the worst potion in the world, if you ask me," Harry said uneasily, Malfoy half-groaning, half-whimpering in agreement.

"Oh pishposh," Padma hushed. "So you've experienced, in _one_ _day_ , nausea, swollen feet, and mood swings. Try it for nine months! Besides, your contractions are closer together now, so I imagine labor won't last much longer—be grateful it's been so short!"

"This is _short?_ " Malfoy wheezed incredulously.

" _Indeed_ ," Padma answered, a note of warning in her voice. She then steadily looked Harry in the eye, a smirk playing at her lips. "We'll get through the last of the contractions together, so Daddy, take Mummy's hand. Trust me, it'll make him feel better."

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. "I don't really think—"

"Take his hand. _Now_ ," Padma ordered, allowing no room for disagreement.

"Er, yes ma'am."

Harry awkwardly reached for Malfoy's hand, hesitating for a moment until a glare from Padma made him complete the action. Both men looked anywhere but at each other, but Harry could feel Malfoy's hand trembling in his, palm hot and sweaty in his grasp.

"Now then, this time, when the contractions start, I want you to try breathing like this," Padma said, following up by sucking in two subsequent, short breaths and releasing them with one long one. Harry had seen Ron and Hermione doing the same thing and briefly wondered if the breathing exercise actually helped at all. Well, he could always take Malfoy's potion and find out, he supposed.

But that was never, _ever_ going to happen.

He could tell when the feelings of contractions were about to begin again by the way Malfoy suddenly tensed up, clasped hand twitching. Then Malfoy's back was off of the pillows as he sat up, bent knees drawing closer to his chest as he attempted to curl around his midsection.

"Breathe, Draco, just like I told you," Padma advised, doing it with him as he attempted breathing around whimpers, and all at once, his hand was like a vice around Harry's own.

"Ow! Merlin, Malfoy!" Harry yelped, trying to pull his hand free, but Malfoy's was clenched around his so tight he felt the bones shift.

"Uh-uh, Daddy!" Padma commanded, holding up an admonishing finger. "Don't you dare let go!"

"He's breaking my hand!" Harry said desperately, flinching at another strong squeeze.

Padma shook her head. "It's your responsibility to hold his hand through the pain."

"How is it _my_ responsibility?"

"You didn't stop him from taking the potion, did you?"

"I didn't know he would!" Harry protested. "I—ow! Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ "

"It hurts so bad," Malfoy breathed, voice high-pitched, and a few tears escaped his eyes, this time not out of hormones but simply pain.

The way the bones in his hand cracked, Harry thought he might just cry, too.

"You're doing so well, Mummy," Padma cooed, again pushing sweaty strands behind reddened ears. "Just think of how famous you'll be once you share your discovery."

"All the men in the world will hate me!" Malfoy sobbed, Harry concurring with a pained grunt.

"Aw, but every woman is going to _love_ you," Padma countered sweetly.

"I'll be murdered," Malfoy whimpered through his tears.

"Shh, there, there," Padma soothed. "Come on then, only a little longer now. Breathe like I showed you. Do it with him, Daddy."

Harry tried but he didn't really get into Malfoy's rhythm until Malfoy stopped breathing and started screaming, hand a vice on Harry's—and then they were screaming perfectly in sync.

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The following morning Harry learned that he should probably seal every report from then on, even the non-classified ones. Apparently, s _omeone_ wasn't following the Code of Conduct, and had snuck a peek at his wearily written report about Malfoy's nonexistent pregnancy, sharing its contents with the entire Department. They'd all had a good laugh at Harry's expense and, by the end of the day, he was rather tired of any jokes pertaining to his imaginary child.

He donated the playfully gifted onesies, bibs, nappies, and other baby things to a nearby shelter for mums down on their luck, but he couldn't do anything about the "It's a Boy!" balloon that was magically strung to his desk.

Auror Pucey stopped by once the teasing had died down, flicking the glittery balloon to get Harry's attention.

"You're having quite the time, from what I hear," he said, and at least had the decency to look apologetic.

"Malfoy's a handful," Harry muttered, dropping his quill to rub at his temple. It was difficult to focus on his regular work when he constantly worried when and why Malfoy would contact him next.

Pucey scoffed lightly, leaning on the cubicle wall. "Quite true, but only because he tries so hard."

"Maybe _too_ hard," Harry suggested tiredly, earning a small frown from the Senior Auror.

"Harry," he said quietly, his solemnity startling Harry to full attention. He hesitated before continuing, thinking over his words carefully before he met Harry's eyes again. "I'm going to tell you this because I feel you and Draco can help each other to grow, to become the people you want to be. Enforcer Vane has indicated that she feels the same."

"Er, okay," Harry said nervously, somewhat bewildered by the sudden somberness.

Pucey studied him for another moment and then nodded, as if assuring himself that Harry was worthy of the discussion.

"A lot of what drives Draco's ambition, a lot of what has _always_ driven Draco, is his father," Pucey said, moving around the cubicle wall to sit on the edge of Harry's desk, tactfully casting a privacy charm as he did. Expression grave, he asked, "Do you know what happened to Lucius Malfoy?"

"I know he was attacked while in custody," Harry admitted, clarifying, "By another cellmate. Someone snuck in a wand—or, that's what I read in the papers. There wasn't a lot of detail."

Pucey nodded. "There's wasn't." A sardonic smile. "Not many cared what happened to Death Eaters at that time, after all. Understandable, of course, but not particularly justifiable."

Harry cast his eyes away from the Senior Auror's ashamedly, knowing he had been among those who hadn't been terribly concerned by the brief article. Lucius Malfoy hadn’t been his concern then, and even now, a decade later, he was maybe curious but found it difficult to be sympathetic. He mentally berated himself; as an experienced Auror, he knew that everyone, no matter their crimes, deserved just consequences.

"No use worrying about it now. We can't change the past," Pucey advised with a knowing look. "But we _can_ do our best to better the future, and _your_ future, I believe, has the potential to become intricately tied to Draco's. Understanding what happened to Lucius Malfoy and knowing where he is now will help you understand Draco, and could lead you both to success. What do you think?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, thinking it over, and then said with a sharp nod, "Okay," before firmly meeting Pucey's questioning stare. "What is it that I need to know?"

The Senior Auror's smile verged on proud.

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"Baby, did the sun come up or did you just smile at me?"

Harry rolled his eyes but calmly cleared his desk of any confidential parchments, knowing after a month of hearing them that the ensuing pickup lines and catcalls could only be announcing the arrival of one person in particular. The entire Department seemed to take great pleasure in the created game which, recently, had been presenting itself rather frequently. Harry's peers were quite creative individuals, he'd learned.

"Yes, I'm amazing, I know," came the faux-wearied response near Harry's cubicle. "Now why don't the lot of you leave me alone and do some work for a change, hmm?"

Malfoy sighed dramatically as he stepped into Harry's cubicle, moving to perch on the edge of the desk like usual, the spot somehow becoming his in the time they'd worked together.

"You'd think they'd grow tired of such things," he sniffed, as though offended.

Harry snorted lightly, not believing for a second that Malfoy disliked the attention, especially since he always straightened so proudly and began preening as soon as the comments started. "What can I help you with today?"

"Vane is busy tonight," Malfoy said, handing over a small scroll and continuing with a scoff, "Some rot about having a date. As _if_. Anyway, I need a witness."

"Ah, Malfoy, I'm pretty backed up here," Harry hedged, and the way Malfoy immediately looked away, expression firmly held in neutrality, made it clear he was displeased by the reply. He always liked to feign indifference, but Harry could read him like a Snitch. Hoping to placate the researcher, Harry asked, "What about, er, Mayburn? Dan? He's not available?"

" _Dan_ ," Malfoy snapped, eyes flicking to Harry in annoyance as he momentarily dropped the aloof façade. Then he shifted positions, regaining control, and said more calmly, "I'm sure Dan has a—a _thing_ with that oversized family of his. It's a waste of time to ask him as I already know he'll be busy."

Again, Harry easily read between the lines: Malfoy no more wanted to keep his supervisor from family than Harry had Pucey. That he pretended otherwise, pretended to simply be irritated by the matter, made Harry smile.

"All right," Harry consented, finding it more and more difficult to refuse Malfoy's requests. "I can always bring along some of the minor cases and work on them in the down time." He opened the scroll Malfoy had given him. "We doing the usual?"

"No, just a small certification matter," Malfoy said, resting a foot on the rung of Harry's chair, his shin brushing Harry's knee. "I'm just proving that one of our products does, in fact, contain what we say it does, and in the quantities we claim."

"I'm just initialing the steps then, got it," Harry mumbled, reading through the scroll's contents. He'd witnessed before for Malfoy, only needing to observe and sign his name that everything in Malfoy's notes occurred as written. Technically anyone of authority could witness—either Snyder personnel or someone from the D.M.L.E.—but Harry doubted Malfoy would be pleased to have a random Enforcer assigned to him for the night. "What time do you need me at yours?"

"It's a bit of a long process, this one, so the sooner the better," Malfoy advised. He shifted a little, saying, "Unless you plan on spending the night again."

Harry hummed in response, only half-listening as he looked over the scroll once more. Sometimes these things required him to wear special protective gear, respirators and the like. Then, finally hearing what Malfoy had said, he looked up and replied with a shrug, "If you don't mind me kipping on the couch."

"There's always the guest bedroom," Malfoy said dryly, tone mildly insulting of Harry's previous behavior.

"Sure," Harry answered, but knew damn well he wouldn't go anywhere near that bedroom again. Gretch still had it out for him and he was rather certain that she put lumps in the guest bed on the nights he slept over. The few times he'd initially accepted Malfoy's offer of the room, he'd woken the next morning with his back and neck aching. He was happier on the chemical-smelling lab couch, thanks. Besides, it was easier already being in the lab whenever Malfoy needed to check on something in the middle of the night.

"Then I'll see you about five?" Malfoy asked, sounding a little _too_ casual—an indicator that he was playing at something—but he'd already stood and turned when Harry inquiringly looked at him.

"Yeah, around then," Harry said, eyeing Malfoy's back for any indication of what he'd missed. "Earlier, if I can do it, later if I can't."

"Arrive by six and you'll get dinner out of it," Malfoy said, glancing at Harry over his shoulder. Seeing Harry hesitate, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, "It's Tinvel's night to cook."

Harry didn't bother to hide his relieved breath, smiling as he said, "Sounds good. See you then."

Malfoy stared for a second longer than normal, just long enough to further Harry's curiosity, but then he hurriedly left the cubicle before Harry could ask what he was thinking.

A moment later, Harry heard someone say, "Are you lost, sir? Because heaven is a long way from here."

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The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, its deep tolls echoing into the potions lab. Harry rubbed his tired eyes, taking the moment of distraction to roll his shoulders, hoping to ease the tension between them. He'd been hunched over his work for what felt like hours, the parchments numerous and spread across one of Malfoy's unused benchtops. Well, less-frequently used, he supposed, as he'd first had to clear it of lab clutter.

There was a squeak of hinges as Malfoy exited his office, eyes only half-open, hair lank, and a red imprint on his face—all signs that he'd fallen asleep in there. Harry coughed to hide a laugh, which only drew Malfoy's attention, earning him a glare.

With a yawn—and another sharp look at Harry, _daring_ him to comment—Malfoy moved to inspect the thick, green liquid bubbling in a pewter cauldron. He frowned, unsatisfied with what he saw, and picked up a wooden paddle. As was expected for witnessing, Harry kept a careful watch as Malfoy stirred three times to the right, three times to the left, and then repeated two more sets of the same. Once finished, Malfoy set aside the paddle and picked up his egg timer, twisting it to the minutes needed.

"Not finished then?" Harry asked, chin in hand as he slumped.

"Not finished, but close," Malfoy answered quietly, and set the egg timer beside the cauldron before facing Harry. "What happened to your arm?"

"Hmm?" Harry followed Malfoy's gesture to his arm, his splotched bandages visible now that he had removed his Auror robe, the heat of the lab too much for the heavy material. "Oh. That. Nothing much, just something from the other day. 's minor."

Malfoy slowly walked closer, too calm to be hesitant but too much easy swing in his step to be ambling. It was the sort of attentive but casual way he moved whenever he had something on his mind. He stopped about a foot away, eyeing Harry's bandages, and drummed his fingers lightly on the benchtop. Then, realizing that Harry was waiting for him to speak, he finally looked up and commanded, "Change those dressings, Potter. You'll contaminate my lab."

Harry glanced at the browned spots on the bandages and shrugged. "It's all dried."

"It's disgusting," Malfoy said quietly, then lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. In a pop, Gretch was at his side. "Fetch me the first aid and some warm water."

"It's fine," Harry interjected. "I don't need it."

"No fooling around," Malfoy continued to Gretch, ignoring him. "I am not in the mood for your antics tonight."

"Oh! Gretch must've been _bad_ for dear Master to say so!" the elf cried, hands clenched over her heart. "Gretch'll do as Master asks, of course, of course! No fooling around! Gretch'll get Master what he wants, even if it's for the dirty half-blood!"

Harry snorted and insisted as soon as she'd gone, "Malfoy, really. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

Malfoy fixed him with a stern glare, hand expectantly outstretched, holding it there until Harry relented with a sigh. He held still as Malfoy unwrapped the dirtied bandages, exposing the healing scabs underneath. Malfoy exhaled heavily, shaking his head as if disappointed in Harry.

"Pot, kettle," Harry said pointedly.

Malfoy's lips twitched, but then he grew serious again and he asked, "How did this happen?"

"What are you looking so heartbroken about?" Harry laughed. "It's just a few scratches!"

"I am _hardly_ heartbroken, Potter," Malfoy scoffed. He eyed Harry suspiciously. "Why are you avoiding the question?"

"I'm _not_ avoiding the question," Harry said, confused. "I already told you—it's just from some poorly cast hexes."

"And _why_ were you in the way of poorly cast hexes?"

Gretch returned then, a first aid kit tucked under her arm and a large bowl of hot water balanced on her head, her appearance keeping Harry from having to immediately answer. Not that Harry had anything to hide; he'd gotten the injury during standard Auror business. Yet he found himself unsure how to respond all the same. Perhaps because Malfoy had posed the question like an accusation, like Harry had done something he shouldn't have, which oddly was the exact tone and manner Robards had affected when asking the same question.

Luckily, Malfoy didn't press the issue, merely wiping up the dried blood, applying some kind of healing lotion— _homemade_ , he bragged—and redressing Harry's arm in fresh bandages. He did, however, very grimly say:

"You should take care of yourself, Potter."

Harry was tempted to comment that it might do Malfoy some good to follow his own advice.

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One day, a silvery bird alighted on his paperweight, tweeting in Malfoy's distressed, shaky voice, "It didn't work. They're— _help_ ," and Harry felt his stomach drop.

Typically, it was Romilda who rushed to Harry, Enforcers generally being the direct line of contact to the public. As such, she appeared quite startled when Harry bolted into her side of the Department, grabbing her by the arm and saying, "We gotta go to Malfoy's. _Now_."

"Draco contacted _you?_ " she demanded, aghast, as he dragged her to the emergency fireplaces. She scoffed at his distracted nod, offended. "That _cock_. What, is he too good for me now that he has Harry Potter?"

"Does it really matter who he calls?" Harry asked, but didn't listen for an answer, quickly throwing a handful of Floo powder at his feet and shouting, "Feather Gardens!"

Romilda was on his heels out of the fireplace, which was lucky for her, as he didn't even bother to wait, immediately turning on his toe and striding out of the parlor. She still had to jog a few steps to keep up, her complaint never wavering.

"I'm just saying, he and I've done this for a long time," she huffed. "He's _always_ come to me first, even when it was Adrian working with him!"

"Auror Pucey," Harry corrected offhandedly, eyes on Malfoy's closed lab door as he brought his wand to the ready.

Romilda also pulled out her wand, muttering, "Prig. At least the house-elves still like me better."

Harry reflexively shot her a glare, that particular topic striking a chord, but then shook himself and regained his concentration, returning to the matter at hand. He cautiously turned the handle on the lab door, pausing for a second, and then flung it open, taking a quick step back in case anything came flying out. He and Romilda kept careful guard, wands up, but nothing exited the lab. From where they were standing in the hallway, the lab appeared empty.

"Malfoy?" Harry called, he and Romilda each taking a side as they carefully entered the room. Aside from the usual bubbling of the cauldrons, all was quiet. Nothing looked out of ordinary—the only thing missing was Malfoy himself.

"Huh," Romilda said, lowering her wand as they came to a stop at the center of the lab. "You think he's having a go at us?"

"Keep your wand up," Harry ordered in a harsh whisper, vigilant eyes still roving over the room. He knew in his gut something was wrong, the hairs on the back of his neck standing stiff.

"Right, right," Romilda sighed, the roll of her eyes evident in her voice. "Paranoid Aurors and their—"

All at once, the room came alive, people appearing as if from apparition all around them, rising from behind benches covered in pots, from trunks hidden behind stacks of parchment.

"Fuck!" Romilda squeaked, reflexively casting a defense spell.

"Wait!" Harry cried, his own hand having twitched before he recognized the people around them, fear striking straight to his core.

"Oh my god," Romilda gasped. Her back bumped into Harry's and he could feel her shaking. "Oh my god, Mum… Dad! No!"

Realization dawned on Harry as the people drew closer, and he quickly sent a sunny yellow charm at the individual in front of him, shouting, "It's not real! _Riddikulus!_ Romilda, they're Boggarts! _Riddikulus!_ "

" _Ri-riddikulus_ ," Romilda weakly said behind him, ending in a sob, and she pushed further into him, making him stumble toward the Boggarts pressing in on his side.

" _Romilda_ ," he breathed, exasperated, worried, and fearful all at once, his own spells growing weaker and weaker as he looked upon the creatures' false faces, heart twisting despite knowing they weren't real. The wives, husbands, _children_ of his comrades, each of them various versions of sad and angry, pained eyes accusing as they stared at Harry, voices in his head demanding why he'd failed to protect their loved ones.

The mental stress was becoming too much, his concentration breaking. Even when he did manage to force back the fear enough to make one of the taunting creatures comedic, he had no time to laugh it into nonexistence, not while the others surrounded him with horror. When he felt Romilda crumble behind him, he knew they had to get out of there, _fast_. Spinning, he swooped down to hook an arm around Romilda's waist, yanking her to her shaky feet, and then dove past the closing in Boggarts for Malfoy's office door, dragging her with him.

He was quick to slam the door closed once they'd burst through, leaning back against it with a relieved sigh. But a squeak from Romilda had him straightening to attention in a flash, wand up in defense.

Stood before them in the small space was none other than Lucius Malfoy—yet he wasn't Lucius as Harry had ever seen him. This Lucius, rather, appeared dazed, drool mixing with blood and beaten head lolling.

Then, in a flash, Lucius had changed to a sobbing Narcissa, her expression aching with despair and hands grasping at her chest, breaths but gasps, as if life itself was being stolen from her as agony.

Harry's eyes snapped to the figure huddled at Narcissa's feet. Malfoy was shuddering, eyes hidden behind his knees and hands clenched over his ears to block out his mother's tears, unable to truly escape the Boggart as it shifted between his physically broken father and emotionally broken mother.

" _Riddikulus_ ," Harry croaked, hoping it was just the one Boggart that was trapped with them in the office. That ounce of fear, the worry that there'd be more, was enough to render his spell useless. He stiffened his spine, forcing his resolve, and lifted his wand to cast again, but Romilda put her hand on his, determinedly meeting his questioning gaze.

Harry nodded, and lowered his wand, allowing her to be the one face the creature. She stepped forward, swallowing before tensing and casting, " _Riddikulus_."

The Boggart immediately shifted from its turn as the battered Lucius to that of Auror Pucey, the suggestive leer he wore utterly out of character as he said to Malfoy's trembling form, "Kissing is the language of love, so how about a conversation?"

Romilda huffed a short laugh, Harry's own lips twitching into a weak smile, and Malfoy stopped quaking but didn't otherwise move just yet.

"Are you a baker? Only, you've got a nice set of _buns_ ," the faux-Pucey continued, and this time, all three of them chuckled, Malfoy sniffling around a smile as he finally looked up. The Boggart shrunk in response to their humor, struggling to scare them but the spell was still upon it and all it could say was, "Do you have a mirror in your pants? 'Cause I can see myself in them."

"Oh my god," Romilda said again, only this time it was a snorted giggle, and pretty soon Harry and Malfoy both were joining her in laughing, the Boggart desperately throwing out more pickup lines as it shrank further and further, Pucey's voice getting shriller with each line.

"Was that an earthquake or did you just rock my world? You're so hot you must've started global warming! I must be in heaven because I'm looking at an angel!"

Then, with a small pop, the Boggart was gone.

The three of them kept laughing once it'd gone, needing the cheer. After a while, when the laughter died down, Harry moved to sit beside Malfoy on the floor, giving an exhausted sigh as he did. Romilda joined them a second later, all of them wearily staring at nothing in particular for a long moment.

"That was terrible," Romilda said, voice rough from both crying and laughing, breaking the quiet at last.

"Agreed," Harry mumbled and propped his elbows on his knees so he could rub his face without having to hold up his arms, too tired to do so.

"Draco," Romilda began, sounding frustrated, but then sighed and simply asked, " _Why?_ "

"They wanted me to see if I could discover how Boggarts just _know_ ," Malfoy answered, resting his head on his knees, eyes vacant. Harry assumed by _they_ , he meant his superiors at Snyder. He lifted his shoulders in a half-ass shrug. "I guess they asked me since I have a background in charms. I don't know."

"Why'd you let the Boggarts out all at once?" Harry asked.

"I _didn't_ ," Malfoy groaned, turning to bury his head in his knees, voice muffled as he explained, "Whoever put them in the shipping cabinet didn't lock it right. When I tried to extract one, they all came pouring out and I—I. Well." He sighed. "It was just too much for me to handle on my own."

"It's not a one man job, that many," Harry said, patting him on the back comfortingly, knowing how hard it must have been to think of anything happy in order to send an emergency _Patronus_.

"Damn right," Romilda muttered, wrapping her arms around herself with a shudder.

"But we can't stay here," Harry pushed on. He tapped on Malfoy's shoulder to get his attention. "I'm guessing you need them alive?"

Malfoy dully looked at him from the corner of one eye, not lifting his head. "I'd like if at least a few were recaptured. It'd be better than going back to Snyder empty-handed."

"Ugh," Romilda moaned, looking at Harry miserably. "I don't want to shame myself more than I already have, but please tell me we're not going to try it just the three of us."

Harry smiled wearily at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to tug her into a hug. "Come on. You can do it. Big, tough Enforcer, right?"

She moaned in disagreement and Malfoy wryly piped in, "What about me? Can I just stay here? I'm not a big, tough anything."

"Sure you are," Harry insisted, hugging him with the other arm. "You're the badass researcher. We can do this together. We just need to steady ourselves and come up with a plan."

"Well, I suppose I am feeling a bit better," Romilda admitted, smiling slyly. "I mean, you throwing me over your shoulder and carrying me outta there like a caveman did kinda turn me on."

"I didn't throw you over my shoulder," Harry denied in a mutter, rolling his eyes, immediately withdrawing his arms as he felt his face flush.

"Damn, Potter, that's kinky," Malfoy said, the humor making its way back to him as well. "You really get off on that hero thing, don't you?"

"I _didn't_ —Forget it." Harry ignored their laughter as he hefted to his feet, dusting off his robes and hoping his face wasn't the same color as the cloth. He flatly glared at the two chuckling on the floor. "Get up. We need to form a plan. _Now_."

"Oh, such authority," Malfoy said, winking at Romilda as he got to his feet.

"Makes you hot, doesn't it?" she teased back, also rising. They shared another laugh.

Harry scoffed, pretending to be more aggravated than embarrassed, but truthfully he didn't mind being the butt of the jokes this time if it meant helping them to forget everything they'd been forced to endure. The three of them could handle a room of Boggarts, but only if they were ready for it. If poking fun at Harry made them feel better, then he was more than happy to oblige them.

After all, Harry was always willing to take one for the team.

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Malfoy collapsed onto a lounge with a wearied sigh as soon as he and Harry had seen off Romilda, Harry lingering behind. They had fixed the lock on the cabinet after trapping the first Boggart, preventing another breakout, but Harry wanted it sealed tighter than a submarine. The last hour had been exhausting, the three of them slowly moving around the lab, huddled under a makeshift curtain that allowed only one Boggart at a time. It had been effective but tedious.

Gretch and Tinvel hovered anxiously around Malfoy's prone form, each them crying tears of joy. Or rather, Gretch cried, noisily blowing into her pillowcase handkerchief, but Tinvel's eyes merely leaked, the younger elf not so much as squeaking.

"Oh Master is alive! Alive!" Gretch wailed. "Gretch saw Master dead, but he lives! Ol' Gretch is so happy!"

Tinvel nodded, silently wiping at her tears.

"This has been a long day," Harry muttered, dropping into a nearby armchair.

"Aren't you adding more protective spells to that cabinet?" Malfoy asked, not even twitching as the two elves hugged him.

"Yeah, as soon as I can make my legs move," Harry sighed, closing his eyes. They sat quietly in their own thoughts, only the sniffles of Gretch interrupting the silence. Harry snuck a peak at Malfoy, seeing him dully staring at the parlor fireplace, and wondered if he was thinking about his parents. Remembering the brutalized image of Lucius, Harry tentatively said, "Hey. I know it's a bit late to say this, but…"

Malfoy shifted on the couch so he could see Harry, their gazes locking.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your father."

Malfoy's eyes first went wide, then narrowed, and instantly Gretch's weeping stopped, the elf's head snapping up as she bared her teeth at Harry. Even Tinvel was frowning, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"I find that hard to believe, Potter," Malfoy said, moving to sit up on the couch. His voice wavered but his stare stayed even. "You've never been my father's number one fan."

"It's not just about him, though I don't think that should happen to anyone, no matter their crime," Harry replied solemnly. "I'm sorry for you and for your mother."

"We don't need your pity," Malfoy growled softly, fingers clenching the edge of the lounge.

"It's not pity," Harry assured. "It's empathy."

"Empa—!"

Malfoy appeared startled, and then uncertain, searching Harry for a hidden meaning or a trick. Harry stared back earnestly, having meant every word. After a long stretch of silence, Malfoy evidently decided Harry was indeed being honest and slowly began to relax, easing his grip on the cushion. Eventually he turned away, eyes moving as he retreated into his thoughts, though he was still aware enough to swiftly hold up a hand to halt Gretch from snarling at Harry. She almost looked pained at being stopped, feeling an injustice had been done to her Master.

"I'll just go put those protections on the cabinet," Harry said quietly, carefully rising to his feet, thinking it best to leave Malfoy alone for a bit.

Malfoy nodded, not looking at Harry as he passed, but when Harry was just about out of the parlor, he softly called, "Potter."

Harry paused in the doorway, back to Malfoy.

"Thank you. For today."

Harry glanced over his shoulder with a small but genuine smile.

"Anytime."

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The Enforcement Patrol side of the Department was always noisy, both with sounds of busied work and with easy laughter. Harry wound through the desks, greeting those he recognized, having worked with all of them at some point.

"Enforcer Vane," he called as he approached Romilda's desk, interrupting what appeared to be a casual conversation with two others. He nodded to them as well. "Enforcer Stebbins, Patil."

"Well, no need to be so formal," Parvati scoffed, saying to the others, "Honestly. You'd think we hadn't known each other since we were eleven, the way he acts."

"Harry's combed through the Code of Conduct even more than Percy Weasley, I imagine," Romilda said, smirking. "What can I do you for, _Auror Potter_?"

Harry gave her a look but asked, "Have you heard from Malfoy recently?"

"Not since you hauled me out of here to fend off an army of Boggarts," she huffed, and then put a hand over her heart and said to her fellow Enforcers, "I told you about that, didn't I? What a nightmare."

"I haven't either," Harry continued over the coos of sympathy, trying to stay on topic. "It's been almost three weeks. Usually he's come by with paperwork, or at least sent an Owl, but I haven't heard from him at all."

"Owl?" Parvati chimed in. "Who sends letters by _Owl_ anymore?"

"The prat _refuses_ to get a mobile," Romilda informed her, earning a gasp.

"No way!" Stebbins said, appalled. "Who doesn't have a mobile these days?"

"Maybe it's a pureblood thing," Harry suggested with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as they strayed further from his purpose for visiting.

"So he says to three purebloods," Romilda scoffed, shaking her head as Stebbins eyed Harry like he was mad.

"I never thought Malfoy of all people would be behind the times," Parvati said, eyes lifted thoughtfully. "He always seemed so on the trends."

"Look, just— You haven't heard from him then?" Harry asked, directing them back to the original question.

"What're you so antsy about?" Romilda flatly demanded. When Harry hesitated to answer, she added, "If you're worried, then just go see him. Use the excuse that you're doing a random checkup or something."

"Yeah…" Harry said slowly, considering the idea. "Maybe I could do that."

Romilda shared a wearied eye roll with her coworkers and then rose from her chair, grabbing Harry by the elbow to lead him. "Just go already. If the damsel's in distress, Fowl me."

And with that, Harry was shooed out the door.

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It was only after Harry Flooed into Malfoy's parlor that he wondered if perhaps he should've sent an Owl beforehand. He was positive Malfoy would appreciate a forewarning of some kind, rather than having an Auror just pop in for a chat, especially if that Auror had previously left on an uncomfortable note. Standing one foot in the fireplace, one foot out, Harry debated whether Malfoy would know if he quietly Flooed back to the Ministry.

The answer was given a second later when Tinvel popped into existence beside him, taking his hand much like before and again yanking him along with her. If the elves knew he was there, then Malfoy likely did, too.

Tinvel dragged him into the lab, which was empty but spectacularly spotless. Harry looked around in awe, having never seen Malfoy's lab so pristine, everything organized in proper place. He was accustomed to the clutter of lab equipment and the mess of parchments and scrolls, all usually stained or burned by past spills. The place even _smelt_ clean, as opposed to the usual chemical tang that sometimes gave him a headache if he stayed too long.

"This week is my biannual audit," said a voice from behind Harry. He spun to find Malfoy standing in the doorway, hands clasped over brown uniform robes, wearing colorful baubles and all.

"Oh," Harry said, biting his lip to stop a laugh. Malfoy really did look like the Gingerbread Man. "Sorry to come at a bad time then."

Malfoy gave Harry a look like he knew exactly what Harry was thinking, and stepped around him to check on a simmering potion in a small, gold cauldron, saying quietly, "It's not a bad time."

Harry followed him, keeping a few paces between them so as to avoid crowding. Concerned, he stated, "You look tired."

"It's exhausting cleaning this place without magic," Malfoy said by way of explanation.

"Without magic?" Harry asked, confused. "Why?"

"Because magic leaves magical residue, and that can affect how the potions are made."

"No kiddin'?" Harry had never considered it, though he did remember Snape snapping at them any time they tried to use their wands in class, for cutting, cleaning, and the like. "I just always figured Snape enjoyed forcing us into manual labour."

"Of course he did," Malfoy said, smirking at Harry with a shake of the head before returning to the gold cauldron. "The potions we made in school were tried and true. None of them were so delicate that a little magic would've ruined them. But this—" He gestured to the cauldron, "This is a _research_ potion. If it works, it'll be tested under numerous conditions before it's ever sent to market."

"And if it only works under very specific conditions?"

"Then it'll be rather expensive and rare." Malfoy backed away from the potion, facing Harry, expression neutral. "Is there some reason for your visit?"

"Er, just wanted to see how things were going," Harry said, absentmindedly scratching at his neck, not quite able to meet Malfoy's eyes. "Hadn't heard from you in a bit and, uh, usually you stop by with requests and all."

"I've been getting ready for the audit, organizing things," Malfoy calmly replied.

"Oh. Um, I guess, then, I shouldn't get in your way," Harry said, and suddenly felt stupid for having worried, even worse for having imposed without invitation.

Malfoy stopped him from leaving with a hand on his arm. "It's fine. Actually, I have some scrolls I need you to look over."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, hoping the relief didn't show on his face. "Sure. No problem."

Malfoy led him into the office, which was also now clutter-free. There was even a filing cabinet Harry had never fully seen, as it was usually hidden behind stacks of parchment piled on chairs. Harry sat in one of the cleared chairs as Malfoy moved around his desk, pulling a small stack of clipped parchments and two scrolls from a drawer. He passed them over the desk to Harry.

"It mostly standard," he explained, still standing. "But the _Videl humblata_ will probably take a long time to acquire, what with all the regulations in place, so the sooner you can submit your approval…"

Harry gave a sharp nod. "Right. I'll start with that one first. What's this?"

"I thought you might like to know what kind of questions the auditors will ask you, if you wanted to prepare," Malfoy said of the parchment Harry held up. Seeing Harry's confusion, he explained further, "As my legal overseer, they will want to check with you that I am in fact in accordance with the law. They'll probably make an appointment with you later in the week."

Harry supposed that made sense.

"Okay then," he said, then hesitated before asking, "Er, should I get out of your hair…?"

"I don't have anything else for you, if you've somewhere to be," Malfoy answered indifferently, already walking back toward the lab, but he paused to smirk at Harry again. "You're welcome stay if you like. Also," an amused scoff, "while a little notice would be nice, you can technically stop by anytime, you being the _overseer_ and all."

Harry ducked his head as he blushed, embarrassed that he'd been so obvious. He smiled, though, when he heard Malfoy chuckle, spirits lifted since he hadn’t offended, and said, "Yeah, sorry. I just— I'll give you a heads up next time."

"Surprises can be nice, too," Malfoy said softly, and then slipped out before Harry could respond, leaving him there to comb through paperwork in relative quiet.

Later, if Harry lingered long enough to be asked to dinner, he decided to blame it on being a slow reader.

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Things became rather routine after Harry's first spontaneous visit. He ended up going to Malfoy's two or three times a week—certainly more than was actually required by his position, but Malfoy never complained. In fact, for all that Malfoy had ranted about seeing people plenty through work, Harry could see he rather enjoyed the company.

Sometimes Harry brought his work along with him, taking over one of Malfoy's benchtops and quietly wading through it while Malfoy mixed ingredients nearby. Other times, he had nothing with him and simply lounged on the lab couch, observing Malfoy work, though he tended to fall asleep those times and was rudely awakened by a displeased house-elf.

More often than not, he stayed for dinner.

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One evening, when Harry arrived, the lab was empty. No bubbling potions in cauldrons, no ingredients half-chopped and waiting to be used, no notes scattered about, and most importantly, no Malfoy.

Harry eventually found the researcher in his bedroom, splayed out on his huge bed and simply staring at the ceiling. He was dressed, but casually, as if he hadn't been in the lab at all that day.

"Nothing planned?" Harry asked, coming around the edge of the bed to lean on the post, folding his arms.

"After checking my schedule, I decided to take a _grouch_ day," Malfoy muttered, not looking at Harry.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, lips twitching. "Why is that?"

Malfoy sighed, finally rolling his head to the side to flatly glare at Harry, but his tone bordered on pleading as he said, "Potter, I get in this weird mood sometimes where I just don't want to talk to anybody, okay?"

Harry didn't immediately respond, merely watching as Malfoy sighed again and returned to his empty staring. Malfoy's sudden ennui concerned him, but without knowing the cause, he could do no more than provide fumbling comfort.

"I know," Harry said at last, adding what he hoped was humorous, "You call this mood _awake_ , right?"

He startled a small laugh out of Malfoy and though it was followed by a mildly admonishing look, he could see that Malfoy wasn't really annoyed.

"So what's wrong?" Harry asked, boldly moving to join Malfoy on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow as he lay down facing Malfoy. "Why the funk?"

"I don't know. I didn't feel like doing anything today, I guess," Malfoy mumbled, shoulders moving as though shrugging. He was quiet for a long moment, Harry patiently allowing him to organize his thoughts, and then, "It's only, sometimes…" He shifted uncomfortably. "I get tired of failing."

With a frustrated sigh, he rolled onto his side toward Harry, also leaning on one elbow.

"I work _all_ the time, day in and day out, and what good does it do me?" he demanded, glaring at Harry despite not being angry at him in particular.

"You've done a lot of good, Malfoy," Harry said, frowning. Seeing Malfoy roll his eyes, about to snap a response, he hurriedly continued, "I mean, sure, you haven't reached your ultimate goal yet, but you said yourself that's a long way off. Maybe not even in your lifetime, right? But in the meantime, you've discovered some pretty amazing potions."

"Oh, you mean like the faux-pregnancy one?" Malfoy scoffed, but then fought as grin as he added, "My supervisors at Snyder completely nixed that one, citing a lack of demand for such a potion as the reason."

"That's too bad," Harry said, though what he wanted to say was _thank Merlin_.

Malfoy saw through him anyway, smiling.

"Patil won't be happy," he said, rolling onto his back again.

Harry only hummed, also lying back and joining Malfoy in looking up at the ceiling.

"You really are doing well," he assured after a minute or two of quiet. "You've helped a lot of people."

"I know," Malfoy sighed. "It just doesn't always feel like it." Then, suspicious and threatening, "Don't tell anyone about this, Potter."

"What, that the great Draco Malfoy is prone to pity-parties? I don't think that'll come as a surprise to anyone," Harry said with a snort, and then the whole bed shook under his laughter when Malfoy retaliated by smacking him.

"Shut it, you cock," Malfoy snapped, though there was no bite and a lot of amusement in the command. "I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself sometimes but I still think I'm better than everyone else."

"Yeah, well, you don't have any reason to hate yourself," Harry said, sighing as he closed his eyes and adjusted into a more comfortable position on the bed.

Malfoy scoffed, and Harry could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Thanks, Professor Sprout," he huffed, making Harry laugh lightly at the reminder of their former, bubbly teacher who had often taken it upon herself to encourage her students.

They fell into silence again, Harry letting Malfoy drift into his own thoughts while he just _drifted_. He couldn't think of anything else to say anyway, and hoped he'd said enough to get Malfoy's mind off the negativity. Really, though, it would be up to Malfoy to decide whether or not he wanted to dwell on failure. Harry hoped Malfoy chose right, because he'd meant it when he said Malfoy had no reason to hate himself.

If the guest beds were as comfortable as Malfoy's bed, Harry would've been willing to stay the night more often. There was just enough of the cushy to go with the firm, and with the evening sunset streaming through Malfoy's tall bedroom windows, casting orange light into the quiet room, light that dimmed with each passing second, Harry felt himself relax deeper into the comfort.

He didn't even notice when Malfoy's breath evened beside him.

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Harry didn't remember how he'd gotten there, but all of a sudden he was in The Burrow. It felt like a natural transition, however, not a bit disorienting. He didn't question the change, nor did he question why Malfoy was the one sitting beside him. Somehow he expected that, too. He did have a passing feeling that he _should_ question Malfoy, of all people, being in The Burrow, of all places, sitting on the kneazle-scratched couch, of all things, but the thought was there and then gone, because really this was all normal, wasn't it?

Perhaps the only part that was a little new was Malfoy's hand in his, but not in the way that it felt unusual or that Harry didn't _want_ to hold hands, just that he was nervous they were. It was an _excited_ nervous, not an uncomfortable one. Hand holding led to other things, and maybe the Weasley living room wasn't the perfect place for _other things_ , but he didn't much care when Malfoy smiled invitingly like that.

He was just making his move, both pulling and pushing all at once, when John Dawlish spoke up from the armchair.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I asked about getting new uniforms?" the Senior Auror asked, mug of sugared coffee in his hand, as always. Harry had never seen him without it.

"Er, yes," Harry said, reluctantly letting Malfoy push him up. It was rude, and also a bit _weird_ , to snog when someone was watching. "You've mentioned it."

"I said, 'Can we get a different colour robe?'" Dawlish continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken, which wasn't all that unusual either. "And they said, 'Sure you can. As long as it's red, red, or red!'"

Dawlish howled with laughter, Harry forcing a chuckle—he'd heard that particular joke more times than he could count. He glanced sideways, sharing a brief, exasperated look with Malfoy, who then smiled tightly as Dawlish launched into another one of his corny stories. If Harry hadn't heard them every week for the past nine and a half years, he might have found them entertaining.

He and Malfoy shared another pointed look.

Sex was definitely on the table, so long as they managed to shake their third wheel.

And just like that, with Dawlish chortling over a well-worn joke, Harry awoke.

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Stebbins was frozen above him, having gone still the instant the tip of Harry's wand pressed against his forehead. Harry blinked blearily at the Enforcer's shocked expression, momentarily wondering why the man was in his bedroom, but then relaxed with a sigh and lowered his wand as he remembered where he was and why. He released Stebbins's arm, which he didn't remember catching, allowing Stebbins to swiftly step back.

"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

"Nah, it's my bad. Should know better than to wake a sleeping Auror, ha," Stebbins said with a nervous chuckle, tenderly touching the spot where Harry's wand had pressed.

"No, I shouldn't have fallen asleep." Harry rose from the tatty armchair he'd been napping in, stretching, and then moved to the window, carefully pulling back the curtain only a fraction. The rundown motel across the street looked as dreary as ever, especially under gray clouds. "Any movement in or out?"

"Some gentlemen and their, ahem, _loving_ ladies. Paid for room by the hour, I'm sure," Stebbins said, nicking his scratchpad off the table and joining Harry by the window. He handed over the list he'd taken of times and descriptions, saying, "Didn't see your guy, though."

"He might be using polyjuice or disillusionment," Harry replied, only half-listening, distracted by a mangy, tabby-brown Tom trotting out of the alley next to the motel, its ears flicking under the light rain. "Nothing's set off the wards?"

"Not a thing," Stebbins answered. Then, misunderstanding when Harry frowned, he rushed to add, "I wouldn't have bothered you but my shift's up in half, is all."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that's fine," Harry said, and released the curtain at last to wave off the assumed offense, repeating, "I shouldn't've fallen asleep."

"You sure 'bout that? You look pretty bushed, Potter," Stebbins said, smiling sympathetically. "Maybe a nap would do you some good."

"It's been a long week," Harry sighed, wearily leaning on the wall as he rubbed his face again. He shrugged at Stebbins's lifted eyebrow. "Just want to get this case closed. Who's replacing you?"

"Patil, I think." Stebbins suddenly leered. "You think she'd go for it if I asked her out?"

"Parvati?" Harry asked with a startled laugh. "She's married!"

"Nah, they're separated. 'S why there's no 'hyphen Gupta' at the end now."

"No kiddin'?"

"Yeah."

Harry gave a half-hearted hum as he turned to lift the curtain again, the spell indicating movement having chimed. The only person he saw was the shady motel owner stepping into the alleyway for a smoke. Harry watched him closely, believing him part of the illegal smuggling, but so far the man hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

"So what about you?" Stebbins asked, moving to sit backwards in a chair by the window and adding the latest change to his scratchpad. "Haven't seen your name in the gossip rags recently. How's Harry Potter's love life?"

"Nonexistent, at the present," Harry replied disinterestedly, eyes moving between the motel owner and Stebbins's notes, checking that all the details were being recorded.

Stebbins cocked a grin. "No? Nice lookin' young Auror such as yourself?" He coughed back a chuckle at a warning look from Harry, adding, "Don't go wearing out your wand hand then."

"Sure," Harry snorted, rolling his eyes, trying and failing to conceal a smile at the crude joke as he watched the brown cat rubbed against the motel owner's legs, the feline receiving a pat on the head.

"Seriously mate. It's not just blue balls you've got to worry about," Stebbins continued, brow drawn as though the subject of Harry's sexual wellbeing was a grave matter. "Not getting laid will mess with your hormones, no lie. There're all kinds of reports out about it now. You know what the first sign of withdrawal is?"

"What's that?" Harry asked, though he wasn't really listening anymore, eyes on the scene across the street. He was moderately impressed that even sleazy businessmen had soft spots for animals.

"Wet dreams," Stebbins deadpanned then.

" _What?_ " Harry asked, startled enough to look away from the motel owner.

Stebbins grinned and squirmed eagerly on the chair, knowing he'd struck gold. "You've been having some wet dreams then, Potter?"

Harry reigned in his surprise and glared admonishingly at the Enforcer. "Not quite, but I doubt that's a _sign_. It's pretty normal."

"Yeah, but you have 'em more when you're not getting any, right?" Stebbins said excitedly, a little too loudly, and had to choke back a laugh when Harry shushed him. They both paused, Harry taking another look out the window, but with muffling charms and wards around the empty flat they'd commandeered, it was unlikely they'd been heard. Seeing Harry's shoulders relax, Stebbins continued more quietly, "What do you mean by _not quite_?"

Harry almost didn't answer, but as he thought about the absurdity of the dream, he couldn't help chuckling, and said, "I keep having this dream, and there's this expectation in the dream that, you know," he shared a crooked grin with Stebbins, "That we're about to go for it. And then…"

Stebbins leaned attentively on the back of the chair, nodding enthusiastically for Harry to continue.

"And then," Harry sighs, "Auror _Dawlish_ walks in. _Every time_. And _every time_ he's telling the same, lame joke, as if I don't hear it enough during the day."

"Ah, dude, so you're getting cockblocked by your coworkers!" Stebbins said, appearing disappointed on Harry's behalf.

"Only in my dreams," Harry responded with a shrug.

"That's even worse!" Stebbins scoffed, making Harry laugh. He huffed for a second more, but then leered at Harry, eyes glinting. "So who's it in your dream?"

"Nobody in particular," Harry easily lied, feigning nonchalance. He wasn't some blushy twelve-year-old anymore, and had learned the hard way to keep as much of his personal life private as possible, even his dreams— _especially_ his dreams. One never knew where buggy reporters hid, he thought with a mental eye roll. "Just one of those vague kinda things, you know?"

Stebbins nodded. "Yeah, I hear that. Don't need a face for the feeling." As an afterthought, "Dawlish, huh? Is it the drinking heavily joke? Or the by the day one?"

"His robe colour one," Harry said, looking out the window again just in time to see the motel owner give the cat one last pat on the head, tossing his cigarette into the wet drain as he did, before returning to the motel front. Harry did a double take, squinting at the cat, who he could have sworn was carrying something shiny in its mouth.

"Ugh, you dream that every night? That's awful!" Stebbins laughed, not in the least bit truly sympathetic. "Man, if I had him telling me that joke every time I fell asleep, I'd be looking pretty grouchy, too, _especially_ if I wasn't getting any 'cause of it. You—"

Harry holding up a finger stopped Stebbins's next words. Catching the Auror's abrupt change in demeanor, Stebbins hurriedly got to his feet, joining Harry by the window. He strained to follow Harry's line of sight, but glanced nervously at Harry when he didn't see anything.

"Rita Skeeter," Harry murmured—and maybe sleazy businessmen were just that, and didn't have soft spots for strays after all.

"The reporter?" Stebbins whispered, now more curious. " _She's_ here?"

"No," Harry said, watching as the cat slipped back into the alleyway. "She's an animagus."

Stebbins blinked, frowning in confusion. "Er, yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"

Harry didn't answer, instead commanding, "We're moving, _now_."

"You see your guy?" Stebbins asked, hurriedly applying all of the basic protections spells as they prepared to apparate across the street. "Ray Cartwright is over there?"

Harry couldn't help himself, grinning at the flustered Enforcer.

"Let's just say, the cat's outta the bag."

Later, he'd chalk up his corniness to his excitement at finally breaking his case; he didn't want to think lame jokes were just an Auror thing.

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After spending a week in the dreary flat, sleeping on ratty armchairs and monitoring the motel every second of the day and night, Harry's desk looked like a godsend, even with backed-up paperwork piled high upon it. Once he'd seen Ray Cartwright into Enforcer custody—the man now human but having spit and hissed through the entire interrogation all the same—he'd come straight to his desk and slumped behind it for a breather. When he'd first started his career, he couldn't fathom why the Senior Aurors hated the stakeouts and were so eager to close the cases that needed such, but now he understood perfectly.

It felt _good_ to be home.

"Well done, Auror Potter," a familiar voice suddenly chirped, tone slightly teasing. "The bad guy's been caught and all without injury to any party."

Harry grunted and cracked an eye open at Romilda, seeing her leaning over the wall of his cubicle. With a sigh, he straightened and looked at her fully.

"What're you doing here so late?" he asked, smiling briefly in attempt to not appear unfriendly despite his drowsiness.

"Just dropping off a report," she replied, holding up the small scroll for him to see. At his questioning tilt of head, she elaborated, "Draco needed a witness sign-off today."

"What?" Harry asked, startled, quickly rising to take the scroll. "I didn't hear about that. What for?"

"You were busy, so I didn't want to bother you," Romilda said with a shrug, frowning at him. "And it was just a basic certification witnessing, not anything you really need to waste your time on."

"A basic certification, but there's a notice for medical aid," Harry said flatly, removing the identified parchment from the rest.

"Oh, that's only—ugh, forget it." She fixed a stern look on him. "Harry, you're about to drop on your feet. Just go home already. Everything's already been taken care of."

"Why didn't you Floo me, or at least send a Fowl?" he demanded.

"Because you were busy cracking your case!" she snapped, irritated that he'd ignored her, and stomped around the cubicle wall so she could stand toe-to-toe with him, her hands on her hips and head tilted back to glare up at him. "I _told_ you, it was no big deal! Just listen to me and _go home_."

"No big deal, but Malfoy is currently at St. Mungo's?" Harry replied, exhaustion preventing him from hiding his frustration as he waved the medical notice in Romilda's face. "That doesn't sound like it's not a big deal!"

Romilda snatched the notice out of his hand, the parchment almost tearing in half between their two grips.

"They're only keeping him overnight because of the acromantula venom!" she growled. "Otherwise, he's _fine_ , and he didn't get _that_ much on—"

"Acromantula venom!" Harry interrupted, torn between shock and fury. "That's a class one! Researchers can't use a class one without an Auror present! Why the _hell_ —"

"He _wasn't_ using it!" she interrupted back, voice rising over his. "It was in his storeroom, but when Sheila bumped the shelf—"

" _Sheila?_ Who's Sheila?"

"Sheila _Bones_ , fresh from the academy. She's one of the new Enforcers I'm training," Romilda huffed, annoyed that she'd been stopped, _again_ , mid-explanation. "Anyway, Gretch scared her and she bumped into a shelf and Malfoy was on the other side and all his ingredients fell, which he shoulda had his shelves stuck and the containers unbreakable _anyway_ but you _know_ how he is about magic touching his ingredients and—"

Harry jerkily waved a hand to stop her. " _Sheila_ shouldn't have been there in the first place! _I_ never authorised a trainee to sit in on one of Malfoy's experiments!"

"It was _just_ a standard certification!"

"I don't care! I didn't authorise—"

"Harry!" Romilda barked, stiff-shouldered in defense. "I have been on this project a helluva lot longer than you! I _know_ what's safe and what isn't!"

"I don't care! _I_ am the Auror overseeing this project," he countered, just as vehement. " _I_ am the one who makes the decisions, not you, _Enforcer_ Vane!"

Romilda's head was shaking, chest rapidly rising and falling.

"Don't you _dare_ pull rank on me," she said, soft but still fully enraged.

"Then _don't_ go behind my back," Harry replied warningly, matching her tone.

She glared, looking him straight in the eye, whole body shaking with restraint. For a wary moment, Harry wondered if she were about to try and hex him, but then she broke eye contact, slapped the crumpled notice on the corner of his desk, and spun on her toe, storming out of the Auror offices and slamming the door behind her.

Harry didn't move for a moment, scowling at the office door and partly expecting her to return for more. Then, realizing that they were done for time being, the fight left him all at once and he collapsed back into his chair. Head in hands, he sighed deeply, knowing the argument had quickly escalated to an unnecessary point. Perhaps his fatigue had aided in making him irrationally angry but he couldn't help justifying his behavior by thinking Romilda had taken it too far this time. There were many, _many_ things he tolerated from his coworkers—attitude being the least of them—but even he had his limits.

Yet the anger was as quick to dissipate as it had been to rise, leaving Harry guilty and further exhausted as he fleetingly wondered whether or not to chase after his Enforcer. Ultimately, he decided that was a bad idea. Romilda wasn't as quick to cool down and likely needed some time and space before he could approach her, assuming that she did ever want to speak to him again.

With another sigh, Harry picked up the crumpled medical notice, reading over the brief explanation of the accident. When he'd first seen it, he'd been ready to race off to St. Mungo's, but having calmed a bit, he could see there was no reason to do so. It wasn't as though he could be of any help.

He rubbed his hands over his face, deciding it best if he just went home for some real rest.

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How anyone could look so unsatisfied while sleeping?

Malfoy didn't appear to be having a dream of any kind, yet his unconscious expression was one of frustration, like he had so much on his mind that it couldn’t shut off even when the rest of his body did—something Harry certainly related to. He could almost _hear_ Malfoy thinking and wondered if the man knew the meaning behind relaxation, half expecting to see a finger start impatiently tapping any second.

But no, Malfoy was indeed fast asleep, a state which had been forced upon him, no doubt, as a vial with traces of shimmery blue liquid rested on the bedside table. Harry stepped around the foot of the bed, quietly moving closer to view the monitoring charm that floated above Malfoy's head. He could see that the anti-venom was doing its job, the spell showing the progression of it in Malfoy's system to be far along. Romilda had been swift in bringing Malfoy to the hospital and the Healers equally so in their treatment.

Truly, there was no need for Harry; there was nothing left to do.

Yet, as silly and useless as he felt, Harry didn't want to leave so soon and instead eased into the room's guest chair with a wearied sigh. He propped an elbow on the arm rest and leaned into his hand, eyes on Malfoy as he thought.

So much had happened that day; he simply needed a moment to process it all.

He'd go home eventually.

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_THE DAILY PROPHET PAGE 4_

 

**_Have You Heard?_ **

_From one whispered ear to the next! Check out the local chitchat._

 

**_HARRY POTTER, AUROR NO MORE?_ **

_Many questioned Harry Potter's attainment of a Senior Auror rank, wondering if he had not been given the title simply due to his sympathetic background rather than his efforts and skill, but now it appears that Harry Potter's true indolence has been discovered and his position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is rumored as tenuous._

_"Well he's at his desk a lot but I don't know what he does," stated one employee, who wished to remain anonymous._

_Most recently, Harry Potter was placed in charge of a vital agreement between the Ministry and Snyder Elixirs, a highly competitive and well-known brewing company. One would think Auror Potter would take such an esteemed, highly-sought position seriously. However, this reporter has recently discovered that an incident occurred directly related to Auror Potter's disregard of protocol, resulting in the injury of a reputable potions researcher._

_One must wonder what other of his duties has Auror Potter neglected to perform and how much longer will he last in his assignment?_

 

_Have you heard something juicy to share with the curious public? Owl in your found secrets to The Daily Prophet, Attn.: Rita Skeeter, Have You Heard?_

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Nose wrinkling, Harry tentatively set the baby back in the playpen, careful of the stinky nappy, and his back creaked in a way that he thought he ought not be feeling, given his age.

"Ron?" he called as he straightened, hand massaging his lower back to ease the twinge. "I think Hugo needs his nappy changed."

"Yeah?" Ron shouted from the kitchen. "Have you checked it?"

Harry's nose wrinkled again, though this time not due to the smell. "Checked it?"

"Yeah!" Ron popped his head around the doorway. "Just tug on the back and see what's in there."

"I don't have to see it, I can _smell_ it," Harry said, face scrunching further in disgust at the notion.

Ron rolled his eyes, scoffing, and disappeared back into the kitchen. "It's just baby shit, Harry."

"Yeah, well, it's not _my_ baby's shit," Harry mumbled, but smiled when he looked down at Hugo's sunny face, the child not at all disturbed that it was sitting in its own feces. Little, pudgy arms reached for him, but Harry merely leaned over the edge of the playpen and dangled a set of toys keys for Hugo to grab at, having learned from the one time he babysat Rose how hard it was to remove the smell of poop from his robes.

"All right, let's see what we've got," Ron said as he exited the kitchen, hand towel tossed over one shoulder. Hugo immediately began making _da, da_ noises, no longer interested in Harry as Ron bent to lift him. Completely unfazed by the smell, Ron flipped Hugo over one arm and tugged on the back of the nappy, saying, "Whew! You massacred a chocolate frog in there, didn't you buddy?"

Hugo didn't understand a word but shrieked a laugh all the same, wiggling excitedly. Harry, on the other hand, gagged at the further exposed smell and had to turn away; he was rather certain he wouldn't be eating chocolate anytime soon, now that Ron had put _that_ imagery in his head.

"Anyway, what I was saying before," Ron said as he spread the towel over the couch cushion, laid Hugo upon it, and— _god_ , he was going to change the baby's nappy right there in the living room, wasn't he? "Why's it still bothering you so much? I mean, it's been _years_. Aren't you used to it by now? And it's not like anyone believes anything Skeeter writes anymore anyway." A laugh. "That's why she's in the last pages now."

"She doesn't need them to believe her. She just needs the idea in their heads," Harry groused, and then frowned and quickly turned to look out the window before he was subjected to dirty baby bum. "She's putting pressure on me and she knows it. All it takes is one time, _one time_ , for me to make a mistake, and then everyone starts wondering if maybe everything else she said was true, too."

"Well, _are_ you making mistakes?" Ron asked, sounding exasperated. "From what you told me, Malfoy's troubles are his own fault, and the last time was because of Romilda Vane, so how's any of that your fault? Whose plate did you steal corn from?"

It took Harry a second to realize the last question had been directed at Hugo. He shook the new image from his head and answered, "None of it, technically, but—"

"Then just keep up the good work!" Ron said, like this answer were obvious and Harry were a fool for missing it. Baby nappy changed, he moved to put Hugo back in the playpen, Harry facing him as he did.

"I _am_ ," Harry said, pausing to reign in his frustration. "I have been doing everything right, following all the rules, doing all the work, even doing extra, and—" He sighed, whole body slumping. "And I just can't catch a break."

"You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, so stop bellyaching about it and just go with what's natural," Ron said, shrugging, and sometimes Harry wished he shared Ron's thick skin. Other times it just annoyed him. "The papers'll always find a reason to stalk you, so just do as you like."

"Sure," Harry agreed half-heartedly, knowing the argument futile.

"You know who really has it tough?" Ron asked. "Renee, this mum I chat with when I take Rose to the playground. You know, the one down the street? Anyway, she and her husband split five months ago but she's still got the three little ones, and…"

Harry didn't fight the topic change and simply politely nodded as Ron expounded on the hardship of his friend, the single mum, wondering when it was that the two of them had stopped being able to relate to one another.

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Up to his ears in paperwork, Harry didn't even notice someone entering the Auror office until he felt the muffling charm settle around his cubicle. He immediately snapped to attention, hand automatically hovering over his wand, but then just blinked when he saw that it was only Romilda standing over him. Her arms were folded over her chest, her eyes narrowed, and they stared at one another for a long, tense moment.

She broke first, sighing in frustration and slumping, her expression somehow both flat and embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, swallowing like the words were bitter on her tongue.

"Thank you," Harry said kindly, knowing how much it meant for someone as proud as Romilda to admit a previous fault. To soften the blow, he added, "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have yelled."

"No," Romilda huffed, moving to sit on his guest chair, not in the least bit appeased. "Of course you were angry. I messed up but you're the one in charge so you're the one that takes the hit." A scoff and an eye roll. " _And_ I did it despite knowing that you like to do things by the book."

The last part was said almost playfully, but Harry could only force a smile, the subject a bit sore for him. Of course he did things by the book nowadays; one false step and his name would be inked across the headlines.

"I really am sorry," Romilda continued quickly, his lack of a response making her border on desperate. "You're so easy going and I took advantage of that and—"

"Romilda, it's fine," Harry assured her, his smile becoming genuine because all that bravado was slipping and she was starting to look simply beside herself at having offended him. He couldn't help teasing, "I know you've still got that little school girl crush on me, so I know how much it means to you that I—"

"Oh _hush_ ," Romilda scoffed, rocking back in her seat and folding her arms again, face reddening, and she looked like she might just _die_ now that he'd brought up their schooldays. "That was _ages_ ago, you prat. Who likes your prudish arse, eh?"

"Hopefully someone might," Harry hummed, grinning at his flustered Enforcer.

Feigning annoyance to hide her embarrassment, she swiftly hopped to her feet, dispelling the charm as she made to leave. She stopped just before exiting his cubicle, asking without looking at him, "We're good now, right?"

For a brief thought, Harry considered teasing her more—perhaps a part of him still wanted to retaliate—but her stiff shoulders and refusal to meet his eye softened him a little.

"Yeah," he said, meaning it. "We're good."

He tossed her a smile, which she returned, and then it was back to paperwork.

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A bang sounded in the lab, immediately followed by a thunderous clatter and a hissed curse.

Setting aside the clipped parchments he'd been thumbing through, Harry rose from Malfoy's desk and moved to the office door, peeking into the lab to see Malfoy standing over a fallen cauldron. With an irritated sigh, Malfoy bent to retrieve the cauldron, but the action was aborted with a wince and he instead rotated his arm to inspect the elbow.

"Everything okay?" Harry called.

Malfoy glanced at him but didn't immediately answer, instead slowly extending and bending the arm in question, as if testing the joint.

"It's nothing. Just a bump," he said. Massaging the sore area, he asked, "Have you found that receipt?"

"Not yet," Harry said, shifting to lean a shoulder against the doorframe, kicking one foot over the other. "You've got them stacked by date, though. Have you any idea when you bought the venom? Knowing a month would help."

"Last spring, maybe the one before that, I don't know," Malfoy mumbled vaguely, at first shrugging at Harry's exasperated look and then pausing, eyeing Harry from top to bottom.

"Er, what is it?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling insecure.

"Nothing," Malfoy said, and hastily looked away, as though he hadn't realized he was staring. "I'm just not accustomed to seeing you in casual clothing."

Startled, Harry glanced down at his robes, having forgotten what he was wearing. The charcoal color of his everyday robes was more muted than the standard Auror red, especially without the silver insignia and hemmed details. He supposed he appeared a lot less official than normal.

"You don't have to stay," Malfoy said then, returning his attention to the fallen cauldron. He hefted it back on the bench and picked up a large, bristled brush. "It's your day off. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"No, really, I don't mind," Harry insisted, perhaps a little too quickly, if Malfoy's questioning look was anything to go by. "Er, I mean, like I said earlier, I wanted to check on you. Help out, if you needed it."

He wasn't completely lying. He _did_ want to help—he knew how acromantula venom could zap a person's strength—and he truly didn't mind helping out. But mostly, not that he wanted to admit it, he'd visited Malfoy because sitting in his oppressively silent flat was boring. His days off were few and far between for that very reason. Maybe it was pathetic that he had sought out a work acquaintance, but he simply didn't mind the quiet as much when it was in Malfoy's lab.

"Potter," Malfoy sighed, and Harry instantly got the impression he'd misunderstood something somewhere. The feeling was confirmed when Malfoy continued, "You have nothing to apologize for. I already know why you weren't here. Vane explained that you were covering another case, and it's not like I expect you to be present _every_ time. So it's okay. _Honest_."

Harry couldn't very well correct Malfoy without admitting he'd been desperate for company, so instead he asked, "Am I bothering you? Being here? I mean, I can go, if you'd rather that."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and started cleaning the inside of the cauldron with the brush. "You're not bothering me. Just—" He heaved a sigh and stopped scrubbing, facing Harry with a flat glare. "If you're only here out of some sanctimonious sense of obligation, then yes, I'd rather you left."

"That's not it," Harry denied, becoming equally frustrated at being unable to express himself properly. He searched for the correct words but came up with little to say. Shaking his head, he merely repeated, "That's not it."

Malfoy looked like he had more to add, mouth even opening as he took a preparatory breath, but then his eyes rolled to the ceiling and he muttered something Harry couldn't hear. To Harry's surprise, rather than push the argument, Malfoy turned back to his cleaning and demanded, "Tell me about your case."

"What?" Harry asked, a bit thrown but the abrupt subject change.

"I said, tell me about your case." Malfoy's entire arm disappeared into the cauldron as he scrubbed the bottom; it looked like it was eating him. "Or go look for that receipt. Either way, don't just stand there like a useless lump."

"I can't really talk details or anything—"

"Potter," Malfoy huffed, stopping once more to glare at Harry. "Are you going to regale me with a heroic tale or not?"

Harry chuckled sheepishly, pushing off the doorframe to meander closer to Malfoy. "Well, there's not much to tell. It was a pretty straightforward case, nothing especially exciting. Definitely not anything _heroic_."

When he came to a stop by the bench, Malfoy paused to retrieve another brush, handing it to Harry along with a box of powdered soap and pointed at another cauldron.

"Well, how'd you get the case? Someone reported seeing too many African figbees in drizzly ol' London?" Malfoy asked, tossing his own brush from one hand to the other as he swapped sides in his cauldron.

"I'm not going catch something by cleaning these am I?" Harry countered, eyeing the sticky green substance at the bottom of the cauldron Malfoy expected him to wash. The last thing he wanted right now was to experience swollen feet and labor.

A slow smile, Malfoy's eyes practically gleaming.

"You _might_ ," he said teasingly.

Harry mock-scowled at him, but dumped a lump of soap into the cauldron and dipped his brush in the water bucket.

"I don't know how it came to be in our hands, not really. I was only told that we had an anonymous tip," he said as he also started vigorous scrubbing. "I didn't open it myself. I got the case from another Auror."

"Oh? Is that common? Case swapping."

"Ah, no. I mean, yeah, sometimes, if it’s someone's got more experience with a particular type of case, I guess." Harry bounced his shoulders in a shrug, not really knowing how other Aurors went about their business. "But this time, I don't know. Auror Williamson had to stay late, and I stay late all the time anyway, so I offered to take it for him."

Satisfied with the scrubbing, Malfoy set his brush aside and picked up a wet rag to wipe out the suds, asking in a strangely neutral tone, "You're not as busy then? Your boss doesn't even out the workload?"

"No, he does. Robards is very fair when passing out cases," Harry said, hesitating as he wondered how to explain without sounding stupid. "It's just, Williamson has a big family, you know? His oldest only went off to Hogwarts this past fall."

"So… he can't work anymore?"

"No, he can—" Harry gave Malfoy a _look_ , suspecting now that the researcher was deliberately being obtuse. "Listen, I'm single, I don't have a family to go home to. I don't have a personal life, and if I like to help out my coworkers that do, then that's my own prerogative."

"Perhaps if you stopped staying late and stopped taking on everyone else's cases, you _could_ have a personal life, or even a _family_ ," Malfoy lectured, nose in the air like a big know-it-all. "You can't always carry _all_ the weight, you know."

"That's rich, coming from you," Harry scoffed, stopping to face Malfoy, who returned his scowl with a glare. "You're in here all hours of the night, long past what Snyder expects from you, trying to create a _magic_ _potion_ that will cure all your problems. Well guess what. That's not exactly living the life either."

"Don't turn this around on me, Potter! I have my reasons, and they're certainly better than simply being a do-gooder martyr!" Malfoy growled. Before Harry could counter, he threw his hands in the air in frustration and shouted, "God! Just—sometimes, every single _stupid_ word you say! Ugh!"

His hands didn't quite fall, both clenching and twitching, like he was restraining himself from punching Harry in the face.

Let him _try_ , Harry thought with a snort.

"Yeah, well, you push all my buttons, too," he said aloud, setting back to work on the cauldron.

Malfoy harrumphed, but followed his lead and dropped the conversation in favor of cauldron cleaning.

For some reason, irritated though he was, Harry smiled.

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"Potter. My office. Now."

The second Robards slammed closed his door, having stuck his head out to call for Harry, the Auror office erupted in ominous oohs.

"Someone's in trouble," Savage singsonged as another Auror loudly hummed the funeral march.

"What'd you _do_ , eh?" another shouted.

Harry didn't bother to answer, merely rolling his eyes at their antics while he warded anything classified. He had no idea why Robards wanted to see him, but since the Head Auror had a propensity for the gruff and short, he wasn't particularly worried. If they didn't have such a lull in dark wizard activity, the other Aurors likely wouldn't be as interested—or as childish. Boredom tended to bring out the worst in everyone.

Robards was scribbling in a scroll when Harry quietly entered, gesturing to a chair without looking up. Harry sat without question, eyes roving over the familiar office to give him something to do while he waited. There were the usual books and parchments stacked on every surface, only a few trinkets from home. Robards wasn't the type to decorate or organize, or even clean, the layer of dust on everything quite telling.

"All right," the Head Auror growled, tossing his quill aside and rolling up the scroll without giving the ink a second to dry. He dropped it into his outgoing box with one hand while opening his desk drawer with the other, digging around inside while he spoke to Harry. "Jones and I had a chat the other day about you, about what to do with you."

Harry slightly stiffened as he abruptly became nervous. Hestia Jones was their Department Head, and though she had always been kind to Harry, he couldn't imagine why she would be talking to Robards about him. He quickly wracked his brain for anything he'd done wrong but came up with nothing, the incident with Romilda and Sheila having already been discussed and finished—or so he'd thought.

"Ah, relax, you're not in trouble," Robards snorted, experienced eye seeing straight through Harry's expressionless composure. He finally found whatever it was he was looking for in the drawer and straightened again, slamming down something shiny in the middle of his desk. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

When he withdrew his hand, Harry could see that it was a silver badge he had retrieved. It was very similar to the one currently pinned on Harry's robes, had the same emblem of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and was set against the star-pointed back that signified the Auror office. It even had Harry's badge number etched into the metal across the middle, except there was one key difference just below that number, where the title was supposed to be: the _Sn._ in front of _Auror_ rather than a _Jr._

"Er, sir?" Harry asked, and immediately swallowed back his nerves, hating how small he'd sounded, and started over, "Um, I don't understand. I—"

"Don't think we don't notice how hard you work, Potter," Robards gruffly said, and though it sounded like an admonishment, he was grinning. "Jones seemed to think that if you were already starting to oversee projects, we may as well promote you, and I agreed."

"But I never applied!" Harry protested.

The grin was replaced with a scowl.

"Enough of this now!" Robards snapped, fist banging on his desk and making Harry jump. "Applying isn't the only way to advance! And don't give me that nonsense again about not being qualified. If _you're_ not qualified, then none of them are!"

Robards had motioned to the door, meaning all the other Aurors sitting outside the office. Harry stammered a protest, bewildered by the sudden promotion and wondering how he could turn it down without appearing ungrateful, but was cut off.

"No more about it, you hear me?" Robards barked, pushing the silver badge closer to Harry. "Now take this, give me your old one, and get the hell outta here!"

"But sir—"

"Don't make me give you a disciplinary documentation for complaining about a promotion! Of all the things!" When Harry didn't jump to comply, he shouted, "Take the damn badge and get out, I said!"

Hastening to comply, but also a bit upset, Harry practically ripped off his old badge, letting it skid across the desktop as he snatched up the new one. He felt lightheaded as he left Robards's office, jaw clenching in frustration, and ignored the curious looks the other Aurors gave him as he strode back to his cubicle. Part of him wanted to turn around, stomp back to Robards, and demand back his badge, but fortunately, the rationale—and intimidated—part of him knew it would be pointless to try. Robards and Jones had made up their minds; there was nothing to be done.

Harry came around the corner of his cubicle grumbling to himself, but froze upon seeing who was sitting at his desk, his anger also seeming to suddenly halt at the surprise.

"Malfoy?" he asked cautiously, half expecting himself to be hallucinating.

Malfoy was slumped over the desk, looking bored and impatient, arms propped on elbows and chin tucked in palms, fingers of one hand drumming against his cheekbone. He startled when Harry spoke, and when he turned, his lips twitched into something almost a smile, but then he stood and was all business.

"Can you make room on your schedule for tomorrow?" he asked, smoothing out his robes. "Or at least, sometime this week?"

"Why?" Harry asked, grabbing Malfoy by the hips to direct him out of the way so he could start clearing his desk and locking and warding drawers, dropping his new badge into a pocket along with his mobile. "You have something that needs to be observed? Could you start today?"

"Well, yes," Malfoy said, sounding flustered, and appeared confused as he watched Harry prepare to leave. "I do already have everything primed. Why?"

"So you can start now," Harry said, more statement than question, not giving Malfoy a chance to answer as he again forcefully directed Malfoy, pulling him along with a hand on his lower back. "Would that work?"

"Now's fine. It's perfect actually, but—"

"Great."

"Potter, are you allowed to up and leave like this?" Malfoy asked, disconcerted as Harry urged him into one of the Department fireplaces.

"Sure I can," Harry said flatly, though glanced apologetically at Malfoy to show that his anger wasn't with the researcher. Scooping a handful of Floo, he poured half of it into Malfoy's waiting palm, saying, "I'll see you at yours."

Malfoy hesitantly nodded, frowning.

"See you," he said quietly, eyes searching Harry's questioningly.

Briefly, as Malfoy disappeared in a flame of green, Harry considered the possibility of getting documented for skipping out on work early, but then his irritation flared again and he stooped into the fireplace. At least watching Malfoy conduct his experiment would take Harry's mind off the unwanted promotion.

Or so he hoped.

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The potion was patiently stirred until the last of the blue _biddle_ extract dissolved. Then Malfoy set aside his paddle, covered the cauldron with a vented lid—sighing in satisfaction as it clunked into place—and the second step of the experiment was officially completed. The rubber gloves and fire-newt sleeve covers were the first of his protective clothing to be removed, and he wiped a hand across his forehead as soon as it was freed. It did little to clear the sweat, as he still looked like he'd just run a marathon, but he was more excited than exhausted when he faced Harry, smirking.

"Now we wait?" Harry asked, recalling this third part from previous attempts.

"Now we wait," Malfoy confirmed, removing his heavy apron and tossing it onto the benchtop with the gloves. "It needs about three hours to simmer before I add the wircham root mixture."

Harry gently tugged on a wet tip of hair, giving Malfoy a pointed look and teasing, "You should take this opportunity to bathe."

"And leave your brooding ass here to watch over things? I don't think so," Malfoy scoffed, slapping away Harry's hand. "You try standing over a hot cauldron for three hours without sweating."

"Who's brooding?" Harry replied defensively, trailing behind Malfoy as he carried dirty glassware to the sink.

" _Potter_ ," Malfoy said exasperatedly, carefully setting down each flask, eyes on his task though darting occasionally to Harry. "You practically manhandled me out of your office and you've been preoccupied the entire time you were supposed to be observing. I'm actually worried that you haven't paid enough attention to sign off as a witness."

"I've been paying attention during the important parts," Harry flatly said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the counter. At Malfoy's dubious look, he countered, "I don't have to watch while you're swirling and 'heating off volatiles' and _simmering_. I never pay attention during those steps anyway."

Malfoy's expression indicated he was already well aware of that, and he turned on the faucet to soak to flasks. "Yes, but usually you're just zoning out and drooling on yourself—"

"Oh come on."

"But now you're doing that, that _eyebrow_ thing you do when you're upset and—"

"What?" Harry squawked. "What _eyebrow_ thing?"

He caught Malfoy's wet hand just before getting poked on the forehead.

"That! You're doing it _right now_ ," Malfoy accused, tugging his hand free and turning to splash water over his face.

Harry touched his brow, relaxing his expression to smooth out the crease, unaware that he'd been making angry faces. Reflexively, as he thought about the cause of the angry faces, he tucked a hand in his pocket and fiddled with his new badge.

"And there you go fondling yourself again," Malfoy lightly sighed, flicking excess water from his hands as he searched for a towel.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, yanking a clean towel from a nearby rack and handing it to Malfoy. "I'm not— _god_."

Malfoy smirked at him before disappearing behind the towel.

"Since you _asked_ ," Harry started huffily, but found himself hesitating before evasively continuing, "I had a… surprising morning at work, is all. Just before you got there. It's…" He waved a vague hand. "It's been on my mind."

"What has?" Malfoy asked, tucking the towel around his neck, expression solemn. "What happened?"

It was asked so gently, Malfoy showing such genuine concern, that Harry instantly felt guilty and hurried to assure, "Nothing _bad_ , nothing like that. Just—"

"Just?" Malfoy prompted when he didn't continue.

Sighing, frustrated, Harry grabbed Malfoy's hand, took out the Senior Auror badge, and placed it in his upturned palm. Malfoy blinked at it for a second, confused, and then examined it closer, flipping it over a couple of times.

"I don’t understand," he said at last. "Whose is this?"

"It's mine," Harry replied, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

"But it says—oh." Malfoy ran his thumb over the _Sn. Auror_ inscription, and then repeated more optimistically, "Oh!"

"Yep."

"I thought you wouldn't _ever_ apply," Malfoy said thoughtfully, giving the badge one last lookover before stepping closer, nonverbally offering to pin it in place on Harry's robe. Harry reluctantly nodded and held still as Malfoy deftly attached the badge. Once he had, he automatically began adjusting Harry's collar and brushing out the wrinkles in his sleeves.

"I _didn't_ apply," Harry pointedly said then, catching Malfoy's hands to stop his habitual grooming. "They just promoted me."

Malfoy arched a brow. "Is that _bad?_ "

"It's not _good_ ," Harry muttered and released him to trudge to the couch, dropping onto it with another defeated sigh. "It's not what I wanted."

Malfoy closed the distance in three long strides, standing over Harry and growling, "What is with you? Why do you ignore your own ambition?"

"What ambition?" Harry countered, propping an arm on the back of the couch to lean on as he glared up at Malfoy. "Why can’t I just be the one who supports everyone else? What's so wrong with that?"

"It’s a waste of talent, is what!" Malfoy said, cutting off Harry's response by adding, "You're a natural leader, and everyone knows it, so stop trying to pretend otherwise. It's aggravating!"

"Listen," Harry said firmly, "I don't _like_ being the leader."

For some reason, that seemed to offend Malfoy terribly, his eyes sharp on Harry.

"Yes, you _do_ ," he indignantly insisted. "Don't _lie_ to me. I've seen you at it!"

"I just feel like I’m taking over, okay?" Harry burst out, unable to stop himself and even surprising Malfoy with his forcefulness. Embarrassed but not quite finished, he continued in a more restrained manner, "I feel like someone else should get the limelight every now and then instead of it always being me."

"If you’re in the limelight simply because you didn’t _die_ , then sure, I am inclined to agree with you," Malfoy said, briefly smirking at Harry's scowl, eyes flitting over the lightning scar, but then he became serious again. "This isn’t like that. You’re being acknowledged for your hard work, and the time you've put in, and how talented you are."

He sat on the edge of the couch then, one leg folded across the cushion so he could comfortably face Harry.

"You _deserve_ to be rewarded for your efforts," he added. " _Everyone_ does. The only people who will begrudge you that are those too lazy to put in the effort themselves, and you can't do anything about people's jealousy. You simply have to prove you're worthy of the honors you receive."

It was bizarre, finding Malfoy's words soothing rather than antagonistic for once. Still, Harry grumbled, "Tell that to the papers."

"Oh, Potter," Malfoy sighed. "Do you even bother to _read_ the dailies? Or do you merely browse the headlines for your own name?"

"Er…"

Malfoy shook his head as if feigning disappointment, but it was almost affectionate, too. "That's what I thought. Try reading when you're _not_ mentioned and perhaps you will notice there are other targets of silly gossip. Skeeter writes more about Blaise than she ever writes about you. Well," he paused thoughtfully, "It all tends to be true about Blaise, I suppose."

 _Blaise who?_ Harry wondered, the name distantly familiar, but didn't ask. He sat for a moment, realizing that Malfoy had a point. He hadn't ever read the papers unless they contained some ludicrous story about him—which, he was embarrassed to admit, made him rather self-centered. Yet the entire reason he didn't bother with the dailies was that he knew they were full of junk, and still he let himself worry what others must think when he was mentioned. How foolish he felt needing to have this pointed out to him.

"Any other complaints then?" Malfoy asked, looking all satisfied with himself that Harry was actually considering his advice.

"Not that I can think of, thanks," Harry scoffed, amused, but met Malfoy's eyes and quietly followed up with an honest, "Really, Malfoy. Thanks."

Malfoy looked away but smiled. "Just returning the favor."

Harry nodded, laughing lightly, having forgotten about their previous pep talk. It was good, he supposed, that they could rely on each other.

"Well," he said as he relaxed into the cushions, deciding a positive subject change was in order, "we've got three hours to kill. Whaddya wanna do? Got any paperwork you want me to check out?"

"Paperwork, he says," Malfoy murmured, amused.

Harry shrugged. "Or, I mean, if you needed me to do something while I was here, but whatever's fine. Got any board games?"

"Well," Malfoy said, strangely hesitant. "I suppose there is something I've wanted to try for a while now. With you."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, curious. "What is it? I'll try anything once, just about."

Malfoy's eyes gleamed at that, his smile swiftly darkening to a smirk, and he lifted a hand, reaching for Harry's face—only to have Harry catch it out of trained habit. Evidently he was expecting it that time, as he swiftly tried with the other hand, smirk widening when Harry caught that one, too. With both hands engaged, Harry couldn't refuse when Malfoy slid across him and pressed close.

Well. He could, technically, but he didn't think forceful defense maneuvers were appropriate to use against a civilian who only wanted to—

Kiss him. Malfoy was kissing him.

Harry released Malfoy's wrists in order to cup his face, gently pushing him back.

"What're you doing?" he asked, eyes locked on Malfoy's dancing ones.

"Isn't it obvious?" Malfoy said with a short laugh, his legs bracketing Harry's squeezing slightly and his grin was far from innocent. "You're the one who said we have time to kill, will try anything once…"

"Am I dreaming again?" Harry wondered aloud, partly expecting Dawlish to come flouncing in any second now, because surely he had fallen asleep, what with the couch and sex with Malfoy a potential option.

"Oh, do you often dream about me?" Malfoy queried, straightening egotistically, and his freed hands began working on the buttons to Harry's robe.

"Frequently lately, yeah," Harry replied dazedly, which only made Malfoy puff up more. How did they go from talking to this? He stopped Malfoy's hands again, insisting, "We can't."

"What do we do in your dreams?" Malfoy asked, tone lewd, but didn't let him answer, instead once more taking the opportunity of occupied hands to kiss him.

This time when Malfoy withdrew, Harry released one of his hands in order to palm the back of his neck and pull him in again, his mouth opening with a small moan at Harry's insistence. It didn't last long, just enough to set every nerve ending on fire in Harry's body, and then he let Malfoy shove him back, twisting so that he could lie across the couch, head on the armrest while Malfoy hovered above him—

He abruptly froze, then struggled to sit up, pushing off Malfoy.

"We can't do this," he said, and hated himself for it.

"Why not?" Malfoy impatiently demanded, refusing to move and rocking into Harry like he was making a counter point. It was a good method.

"Code of Conduct," Harry choked out, grabbing Malfoy's hips to hold him in place—which, on second thought, may not have been a good idea. He licked his lips, trying to explain, "I'm overseeing your project. It's a conflict of interest! We _can't_."

Malfoy scowled at him, but still managed to be appealing, all tousled and horny. "You know what? You're right. We _can't_ , because you're being a coward and it's a huge _turnoff!_ "

Rather than retreating, as his words threatened he would, Malfoy spread a hand across Harry's sternum and _pushed_ , forcing him down once more. Then nimble fingers were undoing his remaining buttons, and Harry held tense, mentally struggling with himself. On the one hand, sex with Malfoy, no matter how appealing, was way out of line—he'd even just been promoted! On the other hand, he hadn't been laid in months and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to the other man.

Malfoy hesitated upon reaching the last button, seeming to sense Harry's dilemma.

"Potter, are we doing this or not?" Malfoy asked cautiously, even deflating a little when Harry didn't immediately respond. "Potter? Is that a no?"

Harry chewed on his lip, torn, but—

 _Fuck_. He couldn't ignore it; he _wanted_ Malfoy.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, wrapping his arms around Malfoy and pulling him down. "We're doing this."

It was the right thing to say, if the way Malfoy grinned into the following kiss was anything to go by. Then Harry's robe was fully unbuttoned at last and being pushed out of the way, Malfoy not giving Harry enough room or time to remove it completely. Not that Harry much cared, because Malfoy's hands were still between them, seeking out the belt on his jeans next, and damn it if it went against the Code of Conduct but Malfoy's salty skin was an addiction he wouldn't mind having.

He tugged insistently at Malfoy's robe, his request acknowledged as Malfoy sat back and yanked the whole thing over his head, not bothering with the buttons and zips. Unlike Harry, who always had muggle clothes underneath, he wore the typical wizarding under-robe, which had always looked a bit like a thin smock to Harry, especially with the ties on the side, but he wasn't going to comment on it now, instead dragging Malfoy back to him.

"Ah!" Malfoy gasped, breathily adding, "Your hands are cold."

"Are they?" Harry asked without really caring, nuzzling Malfoy's neck as he reached beneath the under-robe, wiggling his fingers under the band of cotton pants to cup and squeeze.

Malfoy gasped again, rocking into the grip and grinning before he returned to undoing Harry's jeans.

"This is going to be quick and messy, isn't it?" Harry asked, kind of wishing it wouldn't be but also knowing he wouldn't last long anyway.

Seriously, _months_.

"We can do slow later," Malfoy placated, sliding down his legs, tugging his jeans and pants along with, and then dropped and— _god_ —

Harry's mouth fell open, nothing coming out of it but a choking noise caught between inhaling and exhaling. Malfoy gave a pleased hum around him, again setting his nerves alight, firm hands holding his hips in place when they jerked. In just a few licks and sucks, Malfoy had him thickly, firmly, and undeniably committed to further proceedings. He didn't remember closing his eyes, but he had, and so he forced them open, looking down his arched abdomen to find Malfoy watching him, their gazes locking in a way that made his cock throb harder and his brain melt out his ears.

Long fingers closed tight around the base of his dick then, not too hard, just enough that he didn’t blow early, his cockhead sliding from Malfoy's mouth with a soft sucking sound, red lips shiny wet. Harry groaned, not wanting him to stop, but took the provided moment to catch a breath, embarrassed at how out of practice he was and firmly deciding to never wait so long again.

Malfoy leaned over the side of the couch, fumbling around in his discarded robe, hand still on Harry and ass in the air. When he straightened again, he had his wand and he tapped the tip against his chin in a faux-thoughtful manner.

"Hmm, how should we do this?" he asked, still holding Harry's dick and giving it a teasing wiggle, not enough to hurt but enough to make Harry's ass and thighs tense, his stomach clench.

"Don't play with it," Harry choked out, and Malfoy laughed and leaned forward. Harry propped up on an elbow to meet him halfway, all tongue and hand fisting in hair damp with sweat, and Harry was starting to sweat, too, being still mostly dressed.

"Any preference on spells?" Malfoy asked when they broke apart, tilting his head so Harry could lick a long stripe up his neck.

"What were you going to use?"

"I don't know. The usual?" Malfoy lifted the opposite shoulder in a half-shrug. " _Trojavian_?"

Harry hesitated, self-conscious, and muttered, "I have sensitive skin."

Malfoy scoffed lightly, shaking a bit with silent laughter, the arse, but then he whispered, " _Durexus delica_ ," and half a second later Harry's cock was tingling nicely as the charm settled over it. Malfoy gave it a brief pull, the feeling slightly different now, and then braced one hand on the armrest as he wriggled out of his pants.

When he straddled Harry again, nothing but the spell was between them, and he gasped sharply as Harry grabbed his hips and held him in place, thrusting up so that their bodies rubbed together. He slapped away Harry's hands, pressing one of his own on Harry's shoulder to hold him down as he dove in for another wet kiss. The angle kept his body off of Harry's, which wasn't very pleasing, but he pulled away long enough to whisper another spell, and his hand disappeared between his legs, his cock bobbing and smearing against his arm, and just _fuck_.

Harry struggled to bend his knees, wanting to shift into a better position without taking his eyes away from Malfoy, but his legs were confined by his own pants and jeans and he scowled at them in frustration. He fought to toe off his boots and shook his legs up and down until his jeans were around his ankles, making Malfoy hiccup between a laugh and moan at the movement. The thick fabric of his Auror robe was so very _hot_ , but he didn't get a chance to remove it as well because in the next moment, Malfoy rose up on his knees, thighs spread wide across Harry's hips, hand giving Harry's dick another pull before holding it straight, and—

Harry's head fell back, a rough groan torn from him, his body instinctively pushing into the slick resistance even as his mind broke. Malfoy sighed as he sank down, his body oh so hot and tight and never ever, _ever_ again would Harry forego sex for work.

And then Malfoy moved, sliding up, his body gripping Harry's cock like his mouth had, and Harry's hips jerk upwards after him, trying to get some of that tight hot back, and _fuck_ this was going to be over fast. But Malfoy had promised _slow_ later, and just the thought of a _later_ made Harry whimper.

He glanced up, seeing Malfoy's head back, eyes open but not looking at anything in particular as he seemed to focus on what he was doing—and that _bothered_ Harry, because he wanted Malfoy to lose it as much as he was.

He grabbed him, bruising his fingers into a hip and wrapping some more fingers around Malfoy's dick. He didn't know if Malfoy would like what he liked, but he figured some things were universal. Malfoy choked between a gasp and a moan and when Harry looked at him again, he was looking back.

Malfoy had him then, moving under his hands and over his body. Harry moved, too, thrusting up in the jerky rhythm Malfoy had given them both into, moving faster when encouraged to. Some distant part of his foggy mind cooed over how perfectly they fit, how well they worked together, and with Malfoy's gaze intensely fixed on his, he wondered if Malfoy was thinking the same thing.

But then Malfoy's eyes were closing, his body jerking a little differently, bowing toward to Harry as his breath came quicker. His hand shut over Harry's around his dick, pleasure twisting his expression. Seeing him start to lose himself, knowing that he was just as far gone, was too much after too long.

Harry came with a shout, body wanting to arch and curl at the same time, blood rushing in his ears. Over him, Malfoy must have been just as close, because only a few more pumps and then he was coming as well, spilling wet and warm down their meshed fingers.

Sucking in deep breaths, Harry tried to find his mind, feeling detached and lethargic in the best kind of way. Malfoy leaned over what was left of him, head bowed and hands braced on the armrest on either side of his head, also breathing quite hard. For a long moment, Harry just drifted, listening as the thud of his heartbeat slowed as he came down from his high.

Then everything was back in focus, and he shrugged his shoulders against the perspiration-soaked shirt that stuck clammily to his back and chest, Auror robe now feeling heavier and hotter than before. The movement seemed to prod Malfoy back to life, his head lifting, and he blinked dazedly at Harry for a second before smiling.

"See?" he said, swallowing when his voice came out hoarse. "Aren't you glad we did?"

"Hell yeah," Harry breathed, giving a light squeeze where he still held on. "Brilliant idea."

"All my ideas are brilliant," Malfoy hummed, ignoring his disbelieving snort but batting away his hands and easing off him with a quiet hiss.

As Malfoy settled on the edge of the couch, bending to pick his robe off the lab floor, Harry sat up with a grunt and quickly divested himself of his own, tossing it over the back of the couch once free. He immediately felt lighter and cooler, though his jeans were still around his ankles, so that may have helped. He dispelled the charm on his dick and, reluctantly, crooked his legs, reaching for the rest of his clothes. He wouldn't have minded lying there, half naked, for a little bit longer, but he had a feeling the house-elves were already going to be displeased and didn't need to see him play swinging elephant.

Before he could finish pulling up his pants, Malfoy turned and caught him by the shoulder, leaning in and giving him a long, deep kiss. It wasn't as rushed and needy as before, but it still held heat, and Harry cocked his head questioningly when Malfoy drew away.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Seemed appropriate, given…" Malfoy said, trailing off with a shrug. Then he smirked and added, "Give me a moment to check my potion, and maybe we can kill the rest of the time a little more slowly." His smirk widened at Harry's hungry look. "Maybe even in the shower."

Harry's heart gave an excited thud, his dick a twitch of interest.

"Sure," he breathed, held fast by Malfoy's teasing gaze. "Whatever you want to do, I'm up for."

"I bet," Malfoy said, laughing shortly, and got to his feet, throwing his robe around his shoulders.

And even then, with Malfoy breaking eye contact to check on his experiment, Harry couldn't look away.

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For the second time in his life, Harry awoke in a bed that smelt clean but faintly of chemicals and plants and all kinds of other ingredients for potion-making. He rolled onto his back and stretched, groaning in satisfaction. Cracking an eye open, he easily recognized Malfoy's bedroom, curtains drawn over the windows, and smiled as he recalled why he was there. With a sigh, he relaxed into the soft mattress once more, not ready to rise just yet, feeling so warm and comfortable and quite happy to get lost in his dreams, preferably the ones that were a replay of the night's activities…

The bed shifted, the other occupant also waking and rolling over. In a sleep-weighted voice, Malfoy mumbled, "Potter? It's already eight thirty. Don't you have to go to work?"

Harry inhaled and exhaled slowly, smiling contentedly, absently letting the words settle into his brain, because he wasn't ready to think just yet either—

He abruptly sat up with a gasp.

"Eight thirty! Shit!"

Flinging away the blankets, he flew out of the bed to his feet, but then subsequently grabbed onto the post for a dizzying second as the blood rushed to his head from the sudden movement. As soon as the throb cleared and his heart stopped thudding, he was back to rushing around, trying to find his pants, his clothes, his robe, his _wand_.

"Have you seen my wand?" he threw over his shoulder at Malfoy, who had sat up, blankets over his lap, and was yawning.

Malfoy merely blinked blearily in response, still in the stage Harry had been in before the adrenaline had hit, but then he lethargically reached under the pillow Harry had been using and withdrew the holly wand. He held it up for Harry to see, expression either flat or simply half-asleep, Harry couldn’t tell.

"Oh, right," Harry said, feeling stupid either way. He finished tugging on his jeans and then strode over to take it, snatching his t-shirt form the floor and yanking it over his head as he went.

"I'll come by this afternoon to let you know if we can proceed to the next step," Malfoy said around another yawn, only remembering to politely cover his mouth halfway through.

"You don't have to come by," Harry said, slightly confused. "Just Fowl me if—oh right, right." A wry smile. "No mobile."

Malfoy had been rubbing his eyes but paused to give him a halfhearted sideways glare.

"Well, I need to get in before I get fired. Just got promoted and all…" Harry awkwardly said, shifting on his feet, antsy to leave but wondering if it was rude to cut out so soon.

Yet Malfoy simply nodded, not really paying attention, instead rolling his shoulders back and breathing deeply as he massaged a hand over his neck, eyes closed. As he did so, he tilted his head to one side, his hair sliding behind him, and he unintentionally exposed the red spot Harry had sucked into his collarbone the night before—the sight of which shot a lightning bolt straight to Harry's dick despite all the use he'd given it.

Before he could stop himself, Harry pressed two fingers to Malfoy's jawline and urged him to turn, cutting off his "Hmm?" with a forceful and invasive kiss, one not usually reserved for morning greetings.

When they broke apart, Malfoy was fully awake, eyes wide.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Seemed appropriate," Harry said, returning his casual words to him with a crooked grin.

Malfoy looked confused for all of a second. Then he smiled but tried to cover it as a smirk. He was just about to reply, something sarcastic but playful no doubt, but was cut off by a half-shriek, half-gasp that had them both jumping in surprise.

"Ohh, goodness, ohh!" the throaty voice wailed, and Harry was part of the way through a casting a defensive spell when he realized it was only Gretch. "Oh deary me! Thought it was a nightmare but no! Master, no! _No!_ "

Harry snorted as the little creature collapsed against the doorframe, one hand to her head, one against her chest.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Malfoy breathed, falling back against the headboard with an annoyed huff.

"I've really got to go," Harry said to him, apologetic but having to practically shout over the elf's sobs of, "No, no, no, no!"

"I'll see you later?" Malfoy asked, trying for nonchalance but Harry definitely heard the hopefulness in the question.

"Sure," he agreed in spite of knowing, now in the light of day, that he was walking a dangerous path as far as the Code of Conduct was concerned. Still, it felt _good_ to rebel a little. Reminded him of those best days at Hogwarts. "If you don't come by the office, I'll stop here on my way home."

"Oh my little Master, so young and yet so far astray!" Gretch moaned.

Malfoy ignored her, tugging lightly on the front of Harry's shirt, kissing him gently when he obediently leaned closer.

"Don't work too hard, Senior Auror Potter," he murmured against Harry's lips with a sly grin, and then title sounded a hell of a lot better with his name when said in such a seductive voice.

" _God_ , stop tempting me," Harry muttered, forcing himself away. "Making me even later, damn it!"

Malfoy laughed and Gretch wept.

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Despite starting out so well—minus the ass-chewing Robards gave him for first skipping out on work and then showing up over an hour late—the day completely fell to pieces around midafternoon.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was in chaos: Hit Wizards being called in and assigned to Auror units the second they arrived; Enforcement Patrol Squads being sent out in rotations and sometimes not returning; Witch Watchers keeping an eye on all the Floo networks for criminal activity; memos flying between the desks and lifts; people from all offices shouting over the hustle and bustle.

Harry had never seen Level Two in such a state.

"It was like this before," Proudfoot said quietly while they gathered with the other Senior Aurors in front of Robards's office, having to lean in close to be heard. "When You-Know-Who reappeared, everyone lost their shit."

"What kind of attack are we talking?" Harry asked, having only caught snippets of the various rushed conversations. "Who's behind it?"

"A muggle group, they first thought," Pucey cut in, overhearing their exchange. "Turns out they've some wizards mixed in with the rest."

"They're doing a lot of damage," Williamson added, also turning to join in. "Both to life and property. No one knows if they're just rogue or part of a bigger group, and that's what's got the management panicking."

The subject dropped then, all chatter amongst their group ceasing as Robards swung open his office door, shouting orders as he stormed out.

"Proudfoot! Take your Hit squad to the Southeast side! Savage, grab some Enforcers and guard the muggle Minister! Pucey, Dawlish, and Williamson, you take the rest of the Hit Wizards and get to the center of the city, head off this attack. The wizards are hiding amongst the muggles, the _cowards_."

Each Auror raced off as soon as their directive was given, leaving only Harry at Robards's side as he entered the Enforcement Patrol office.

"Potter!" he barked, nodding when Harry determinedly met his glare, "Tell Wiggs and Hao to set up prep points throughout the city. Then take an Enforcement squad to Proudfoot's location. They've got some looting there the muggle Enforcers can't keep up with and he doesn't need any fools getting in his way when he's tracking the wizards. You be in charge of that."

"Yes sir," Harry answered with a sharp nod.

"I'll be with Sandy and the others. Send me updates as needed, an emergency _Patronus_ if you have to."

With that, Robards stomped away toward the Head Enforcer's office. The other office heads appeared to be gathering there as well, including Department Head Hestia Jones, though Harry suspected they weren't planning to stay, knowing that the Head Enforcer had a private apparition cubicle reserved for emergencies. He briefly worried if Minister Shacklebolt was to meet them wherever they were going, but shook his head and set to his own task.

"Vane, Stebbins, Patil!" he called, and the three Enforces huddled in a gossip circle around Romilda's desk all looked his way. "Gather some others and meet me by the fireplaces!"

"Aye, aye!" Romilda shouted back jokingly, but Harry had already turned and was striding back to the Auror office to find Wiggs and Hao, brow tensed with unease.

Of course, it figured his first assignment as a Senior Auror had to involve some grand event.

After all, who was he if not Harry Potter?

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The streets had calmed where Harry waited. Earlier, in the distance, he'd heard screams and shouting, and even what sounded like a small explosion or two, but all of it grew quieter and less frequent as the hours passed, the last of the law enforcement sirens having died down at least forty-five minutes prior. While anyone else would be relieved, the quiet only served to make him more nervous. He'd had too many bad experiences with criminal wizards and _quiet_.

Harry also worried about Proudfoot, having touched base with the older Auror upon arriving but not having seen or heard from him or any of his Hit squad after the first few messages of contact. Unless Proudfoot was closely tracking someone and didn't want to give away his position, he should have sent more updates on his progress.

The Enforcers had spread amongst the muggle police at Harry's command, helping out as needed. He kept careful watch over them, following them with a tracking spell, but so far none had reported any use of magic, only confronting muggle looters who were taking advantage of the attack. The sun was starting to set, the temperature dropping along with it. He didn't think any of them would be happy to stay out for much longer.

"All right," Harry sighed, speaking into the tip of his wand so they could hear him through the spell. "It's been half an hour since anyone's tried anything. I think the muggle police can handle it from here. Regroup."

He had several responses of "Yes sir," an "Okie dokie" or two, and another of Romilda's "Aye, aye!" Apparently, she'd been on a pirate kick for the past week, he'd learned.

Within a few minutes, all of the Enforcers were apparating back to Harry's location, some having already dropped their illusion charms and others dispelling it upon returning, the image of the police uniform warping and shifting back to the standard Enforcer robes. Harry observed faces as they arrived, intending to ask if any had seen Proudfoot or the Hit Wizards once they were all accounted for, but as time passed, he realized there was one person he had not seen.

"Where's Patil?" he asked, immediately checking his tracking spell for the stray. All blue lights shone in the area around him, not one straggler. He counted the lights and then counted the Enforcers, luckily getting the same number, but still no Parvati. He flipped his wand around and said into the tip, "Enforcer Patil, please respond."

The other Enforcers shifted around nervously, alerted now that she was missing. They exchanged worried looks when the only answer Harry received was silence. Romilda broke away from the group, striding to his side.

"Enforcer Patil?" he called again yet continued to get no reply.

"Parvati was covering the street next to mine," Romilda said. "Shall I take you there?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed with a nod, following her but adding to the rest of the Enforcers, "Stay here, keep the apparition points open. If anyone comes asking, let them know where we are. We'll be right back."

"You think she's okay?" someone asked.

"Could just be the spell's worn off," Harry answered calmly, not letting them see his growing concern. "It's been over two hours since it was cast. Happens sometimes."

He held still as Romilda took his arm and side-along apparated him to her seclusion point, her charmwork attached to the neighborhood alley somewhat rough around the edges but effective, as no one was loitering nearby. Harry took the lead then, checking the street and finding it peculiarly empty. The street lamps were turning on, it was nearing dinnertime, but he expected to at least see one or two lingering outside.

As if reading his mind, Romilda whispered, "I thought it was weird that it was so quiet, but I didn't see anything, and I figured they were all staying in 'cause they'd been told to or something. You know," she shrugged, "by the muggle Enforcers."

"'S fine," Harry murmured, nonverbally casting a few basic revealing charms for anything hidden. The weighted spells dropped to the ground, the magic moving over the sidewalks and driveways like a quick wave in all directions. The edge of Romilda's seclusion spell lit up yellow as it was revealed by Harry's, as did a hidden image of a pirate flag magically painted on a house's front gate across the street. Harry gave the Enforcer a reprimanding look. " _Romilda_."

"What?" she defended, mumbling, "I was _bored_."

Even further down, a block or so away, another yellow light began to shine. Harry gave the street another check and then eased from the alley, Romilda on his heels. He kept his wand up as he moved, eyes searching everything around them, alert and ready for anything out of the ordinary. When they made it to the glowing reveal, Harry dismissed his spell to observe what was underneath.

"There's a ward here," he said, feeling along the edges of the magic. He sighed, mildly reassured. Parvati had likely moved into the ward without knowing it, Enforcers not as trained as Aurors to detect such incantations. Harry pointed at the warped edge of the wooden fence where the ward attached, explaining to Romilda, "See this? That's an easy giveaway. Whoever put this up either wasn't skilled enough to hide it or was in a hurry and needed something quick."

"So she's okay," Romilda breathed, also relieved. "She just can't receive our spells through that one."

"Hopefully that's the case," Harry said, thoughtful as he prodded the edge again. It bubbled and bounced and then finally gave way, breaking the chain of the magic and falling open like a curtain. "Don't drop your guard, though. _Someone_ had to put this up. It looks like it was done a while ago but they could still be around."

"You think so?" she asked, tensing again.

"Maybe," Harry murmured, thinking of Proudfoot and the Hit Wizards. He cast the tracking spell once more, and was highly pleased when a blue light appeared on the next over street. Flipping his wand, the contact spell still in place, he quietly said into the tip, "Enforcer Patil, please respond."

There was a long second of silence, and then, "Enforcer Patil here."

Harry's lips twitched and Romilda heaved a sigh of relief, smacking him on the shoulder.

"You had me so worried, _Merlin_ ," she huffed.

Harry rolled his eyes at her antics, but said to Parvati, "Patil, everything okay?"

"Yeah?" Parvati replied, sounding confused by the question. "Should it not be? I mean, it's awfully quiet, I guess… I was wondering when you'd call for us."

"You've walked into a ward," Harry explained. "I've been trying to reach you."

"I didn't even notice!" Parvati said after a gasp, shocked.

"Yeah, that's often the point," Harry chuckled. "But don't worry, it's open now. We'll head your way in a bit."

"Should I just come to you?" she asked.

"No, stay where you are," Harry advised, becoming serious once more. To Romilda he said, "Contact the other Enforcers, let them know where we are and what we're doing," before clarifying to Parvati, "We don't know who set up this one. I'd rather you stayed put, just in case."

"Got it. I'm standing in front of this—"

She abruptly cut off, leaving only silence in the connective spell.

"Say that again?" Harry asked, patiently waiting for a few seconds before growing concerned. "Enforcer Patil, please repeat."

The silence continued. Harry quickly righted his wand and cast the tracking spell again. The blue light that signified Parvati lit up again, still in the same place.

"Why isn't she responding though?" Romilda asked, speaking Harry's thoughts, having looked over his shoulder as he cast. They both watched in surprise as the blue light suddenly began to move, darting between large gray objects that represented solid structures.

Harry cleared the spell and lifted his wand to a defensive hold, sternly saying, "We're moving. Stay low, stay behind me."

"Aye, aye," Romilda muttered, then dutifully fell quiet and carefully followed him past the exposed edge of the ward.

Harry slipped through the narrow alley between the houses, knees bent in attempt to hide most of his body behind the fence. He glanced at Romilda to ensure she was doing the same, and then held up a hand for her to stop as they came to the end of the alley. He waited, listening.

As if on cue, a spell buzzed past, smacking into a streetlamp and bursting into red stars. Romilda tensed beside him, but Harry grabbed her arm to stop her from returning fire. The angle of the spell, where it ended up, told him it had been a stray casting, not one directed at them, ensuring they had not yet been discovered.

The loud bang of a trash can being knocked over sounded then. Harry quickly peeked over the top of the fence, finger clenching around his wand as he saw Parvati running toward them, ducking and shielding a rain of curses and hexes. Only one of the casters was visible, standing just on the edge of the shadows around one house, but the person had a scarf of some kind wrapped around the bottom of his face and sunglasses on despite the darkness. Harry saw nothing of the others, nor how many there were; he could only see spells flying out of the shadows, all aimed for his Enforcer.

" _Shit_ ," he hissed, having to yank Romilda down again and saying before she could snarl a protest, " _Cover_ _us_. I'll get Parvati. As soon as you see me with her, get out of here, get to your seclusion point, and alert the others!"

"But—!"

" _Romilda!_ "

She growled in annoyance but gave a short nod.

"Good. On three," Harry said, waiting for another nod before counting. "One. Two—"

They both jumped to action on the third count, Romilda flinging spells over the top of the fence toward their attackers and Harry doing the same as he darted into the open after Parvati. Luckily, she had found cover behind a small car, the glass shattering over her as the spells ripped through it, the alarm shrieking and lights flashing. No muggles so much as peered out their windows, leading Harry to believe a quieting spell had been placed over the houses. Whoever had set the ward had done so to hide.

Harry dodged and countered what he could, but was painfully grazed by a slicing curse and almost fell prey to a particularly nasty tripping hex he'd seen break ankles. As it was, it caught just the tip of his shoe, yanking his foot back at an uncomfortable angle but not causing him to fall. He cast blindly at the shadows in response, the one wizard standing point having already prudently slipped out of sight, leaving the counterattack without a target.

Glass cut through Harry's robe and into his skin as he slid to a stop beside Parvati at last, hurriedly crowding close to expose as little of himself as possible.

"I don't know," Parvati rushed to say, disheveled, bleeding from an ear, and the police uniform illusion still wavering around her; she hadn't had the time to dispel it. "I don't think they knew I was here until you contacted me. Then they came at me all at once."

" _Sorry_ ," Harry said honestly. He'd considered that as a possibility but had taken the chance anyway. Her left arm hung limply at her side and he gestured to it briefly before he shot off a few more spells, asking, "Broken?"

"Out of joint, I think. They hit me here with some kinda hex, felt like a bowling ball," she replied, tenderly touching the side of her ribs and grunting. "Hurts like a bitch."

"Too much to apparate?"

"Yeah, I can't focus."

There was a cry down the street as someone fell out of the shadows, unconscious, followed by a triumphant shout from behind the fence Harry had just left.

"Romilda!" he barked, scowling when she peeked over the top at him. " _Go!_ "

"All right! _Fine!_ " she snapped back, ducking back down.

"Oh, that girl," Parvati breathed, wincing through a pained chuckle.

"Listen, I can't do a standing side-along, not with this volley," Harry told her. "We stick our heads up and we'll be hit before we can go. I know you're hurt, but we've gotta do a ground roll."

"What? But I thought there was a ward up?"

"It's not that strong, and I made a hole," Harry explained, taking her hand and gently encouraging her to lie down. He glanced around the car and threw a few more counterhexes to keep back their opponents.

Parvati clenched her teeth as she settled on the broken glass, releasing her held breath in a gasp, and still managed to look up at him in concern. "Even with a hole… _Apparition_ , Harry…"

"I can do it," Harry assured her. "I'm not saying it won't hurt a little, but I can do it."

"You never cease to amaze me," she said, forcing a smile.

Another set of defensive spells and then Harry hurried to lie beside her, helping ease her half on top of him, hasty but doing his best not to hurt her further. Once she was in place, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating, and then rolled into the apparition, holding tightly to Parvati.

With a _crack_ , they were sliding to an agonizing stop, still on concrete but no longer on broken glass or under a barrage of curses. Parvati had yelped at initial contact but was quick to roll away, wand up in defense while Harry gasped his way through aftershock reverberations.

"What the! Did you just apparate through that _ward?_ " Romilda shrieked from somewhere, and Harry forced open his eyes to see that he had landed right where he wanted—just outside her seclusion point.

"Ow, that fucking _hurts_ ," Harry mumbled, feeling like his bones were each snapping into little pieces.

"Of _course_ it hurts, you insane moron!" Romilda chastised shrilly.

"We need to get out of here," Harry said, disregarding her continued complaints as he made himself sit up. Romilda huffed but grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet, steadying him before doing the same for Parvati. Harry motioned them into Romilda's charm, setting another on top of it. "I've set a seal. Take her back to the prep point first and I'll follow behind. It should close this point as soon as I leave."

"Are you up for another apparition?" Parvati asked, alarm etched in her pretty features.

"I can come right back," Romilda offered, less worried and more exasperated.

"I'm _fine_ ," Harry insisted and, seeing their dubious looks, quickly lied, "It doesn't hurt that much anymore. The faster we're all out of here, the better." Seeing that they were on the verge of arguing, he ordered, " _Go_ , Romilda."

With a _tsk_ , Romilda adjusted her grip on Parvati and then turned in place, disappearing in a sharp _crack_.

Giving his seal one last quick check, Harry made to follow, hesitating only briefly as he braced himself for the burn that was sure to come.

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"So you didn't get a look at how many?"

Harry's whole body jerked as the Emergency Mediwitch hurriedly and tightly wound his upper arm in bandages, the white already staining red. Each movement had his brain rattling and his nerves trembling from the continued aftershocks, which had only been exacerbated by a Floo trip back to the Ministry. Even the sound of the fireplace nearby was almost too much, whooshing over and over again as more Hit Wizards and Enforcers came and went between Level Two and the prep point.

"At least five, I'd say," he answered Robards, deeply inhaling and forcing himself to relax as another jolt shot through him, the EMW prodding at his arm, squeezing the muscles and bone. He took a deep breath and ground out, "Vane got one but that didn't seem to slow them any."

"And you haven't heard from Proudfoot?" Robards asked, expression severe. At Harry's head shake, he turned to Dawlish. "When was his last report?"

Dawlish pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket but still had to lean away from the log parchment to read it, fingertip trailing down the list of names and reports. "About an hour and a half. Said he was going to inspect a 'disturbance' with two Hit Wizards."

"He needs to get this checked out," the EMW interrupted then, nodding to the bloodied dressings on Harry's arm. "Must've been a dark spell. I can't get it to stop bleeding."

"It's just a scratch," Harry hastened to say, adding to Robards, "I'm fine. I feel fine."

"You apparated through a ward," Pucey admonished, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder to hold him in place when he tried to stand.

"It had a hole in it," Harry argued, frustrated. "It wasn't that strong."

Robards visually assessed him from top to bottom, and then waved a dismissive hand, saying to Pucey, "Take him to the onsite Healer. She can check him once she's finished with Patil."

"Wha— _sir!_ " Harry insisted, knocking away Pucey's hand and hefting to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. It was lessening a little, he thought. "It's not that bad! A— A pain potion! That would be more than plenty."

"Enough, Potter," Robards rumbled inattentively, not even looking at Harry now, mind on more pressing matters. He motioned for Dawlish to follow him and then strode toward the fireplaces, ignoring Harry's further protests.

"Come," Pucey said, taking Harry by the elbow, tone cautioning. "Let the Hit Wizards take care of the rest."

Harry shook him off again.

"Sir!" he called after Robards, and fully intended to run after the Head Auror, but someone suddenly stepped directly in front of him, blocking his path. Growling, Harry intended to shove the person aside, but almost swallowed his tongue in shock when he saw who it was.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Malfoy demanded, taking a few sure steps forward and forcing Harry back the same amount.

Harry blinked rapidly, wondering if he was hallucinating. "Wha— _Malfoy?_ What're you doing here?"

"I came to see _you_ ," Malfoy snapped angrily. "Then I got here and everything and everyone was turned on its head and I was told I had to wait, so I _did_ , and now you're here, and they told me you apparated through a _fucking_ _ward_ , and you're _bleeding all over the place_ , and you want to go back out there, to _leave?_ "

"Malfoy, not _now_ ," Harry breathed, taking the man by the shoulders and trying to push him aside. He winced as his arm immediately throbbed, and maybe he really was hurt because he couldn’t make Malfoy budge an inch.

"Yes _now_ , Potter!" Malfoy hissed, grabbing Harry's hands and easily, _painfully_ , removing them from his person. "Stop trying to leave and go see that Healer like your captain told you to. You're _hurt!_ Merlin! I've been off my mind worried but you're still playing the foolish martyr! I don't know if I want to hug you or _strangle_ you!"

Harry almost laughed at that, and only didn't because Malfoy was glowering so furiously.

"Listen," he sighed, "It's not as bad as it looks. I—"

Harry abruptly cut off, catching Malfoy's hand with his good one before he could be shoved. Just the small action with his uninjured arm made his whole body tremble, his teeth even rattling in his mouth.

"Do you feel that, Potter?" Malfoy snarled, and the way he spat Harry's surname was reminiscent of their school days. "What you're feeling is _pain_ , and that's nature's way of saying _don't_."

"And pain killers are mankind's way of saying _just watch me_ ," Harry growled back, glaring, just as angry now because _fuck_ that had hurt and Malfoy had done it on purpose. Seeing Malfoy about to argue, he quickly interrupted, "You _don't_ understand. Proudfoot is still out there. We don't know where. He has a wife and kids and grandkids and—"

"You have family, too, you great dolt!" Malfoy seethed, hand still caught in Harry's clenching. "Do you think they don't worry about you? And Auror Proudfoot has been here much longer than you! He knows what he's doing!"

Harry used his grip to drag Malfoy in close so there was nowhere for the man to look except straight in his eye. "I can't just _stop_. This is who I am, it's my _job_."

"I'm not telling you to _stop_ ," Malfoy said just as heatedly, not backing down in the slightest. "I'm not telling you to not do your _job_. I'm telling you to realize you're not the only doing it!"

"All right, that's enough, let him go," Pucey spoke up, intervening at last, perhaps concerned things were about to get physical. He carefully slid an arm between them, hooking it around Malfoy and urging the researcher to back up. Once there was breathing room for both furious parties, he calmly instructed, "Draco, go get some coffee. You look tired."

Malfoy scowled at him. "You know I don't drink—"

"Get some tea then, or water, whatever," Pucey corrected, ushering him away from Harry. When Malfoy still tried to stay, his expression became stern and he pointedly said, "You're not even supposed to be here right now. Don't make me kick you out."

" _Fine_ ," Malfoy snapped, pushing away Pucey's arm. He glowered at Harry one last time and then spun on his toe, storming off toward the break room, pushing gawking bystanders out of the way.

Now that Malfoy wasn't the center of his focus, Harry was embarrassed to find that they'd been creating quite the scene for everyone to watch. He feigned disinterest in the stares and turned expectantly to Pucey, knowing the other Auror wasn't finished with him.

"Come," Pucey said quietly, jerking his head oddly in the direction of Harry's cubicle rather toward the Enforcer's offices where the Healer was waiting. "Let's talk."

Harry sent one last longing look to the fireplaces and then obediently followed with a sigh, hating how much time he was wasting arguing his case when he could be helping. Pucey waved him into the cubicle first, waited for him to ease into his desk chair, and then tapped on the wall, charming the small area quiet.

"I know," Harry insisted preemptively once the office noise was muffled. "I need to see the Healer, but I can still do my job. I can still help."

Pucey studied him for a long minute, expression carefully controlled, and then shook his head.

"Not tonight," he said quietly. "You’ve already done enough."

"But Proudfoot—"

"Is an experienced, capable Auror, as are those in better positions to help," Pucey cut off sternly. "You are no good to him, or anyone, injured." His look sharpened when Harry made to protest, voice dropping lower. "It's not often Draco Malfoy and I agree, but it does happen. Don't think I don't see the way you're chewing your enamel, Harry."

Harry unclenched his jaw, caught out, and was tempted to give an excuse but another warning glare from Pucey told him it wouldn't be well received. He reluctantly nodded, conceding the issue, and said instead, "All right, I know. But I can't just _sit_ _here_ , doing nothing."

"You can," Pucey countered quietly, firmly meeting his annoyed glare. "You can because, sometimes, _you_ _have to_." He sighed, taking a step and folding his arms, thoughtful for another moment before continuing. "Do you know the difference between you and I?"

"You were in Slytherin, I was in Gryffindor?" Harry wryly guessed.

Pucey smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fundamentally, yes, that's exactly it. Because you see, when I come across a situation similar to the one you did earlier, my first thought is, how can I get _everyone_ out of here safely?"

Harry sighed, exasperated. "That's my first thought too—"

Pucey held up a hand to silence him. "No, it's not. _Your_ first thought is, how can I get everyone _else_ out of here safely. You have no regard for your own wellbeing." Again he stopped Harry's protest with a quick gesture. "I'm not saying it's bad, the way you think. It shows how genuinely selfless you truly are. However, it is _dangerous_. You're going to get yourself killed, and don't be fooled, Harry. You _can_ die, and you _will_ die, sooner rather than later if you continue down this path."

"But if I don't—" Harry swallowed, looking away, down at his hands as he absently rubbed them together, and tried to put his feelings into words. "I can't— If something were to happen… I can't face the families."

"Well, that's another topic I'd like to address. One more thing that Draco and I agree on, which means the statistics are getting quite skewed tonight," Pucey said in mock vexation, startling a small laugh out of Harry. "I know that, when you look at me, you see my wife and daughters. You see Savage's son, Proudfoot's grandchildren. You see our families, waiting for us to come home safe and sound. But Potter, that's one thing we don't differ on, because when I look at you, I see your family, too."

Harry scoffed, on the verge of saying he didn't _have_ any family, but then Ron and Hermione, Hugo and Rose, the rest of the Weasleys, all of his friends and, most prominently, _Draco Malfoy_ passed through his mind and he hesitated.

"I know what you're thinking, that your friends haven't felt much like family lately," Pucey continued, only partially correct, "but you have to forgive them for these years. Their children are, what, four and two?"

"Three and one," Harry amended quietly.

Pucey oddly chuckled at that, moving to sit on the edge of Harry's desk. "Oh, so they're even worse than I thought. Let me tell you something about new parents, Harry, and this is from experience. They're annoying and self-centered. Nobody likes them, except maybe the grandparents and even that's debatable."

Harry laughed again, thinking it over and then nodding, because yeah, Hermione and Ron were kind of hard to take recently and even Molly and Arthur had had to pinch off a few annoyed frowns.

"But it only lasts a short while. Then they start to realize that their children's _shit_ isn't as interesting as all that. They will suddenly want to be a part of the adult world again, and they'll come back to you, noses in the air, justifying their behavior because they probably don't even realize they're dreadful to be around," Pucey explained, gesturing grandly with his hands and rolling his eyes, keeping Harry chuckling enough that it hurt. Pucey paused, letting him regain his composure before finishing. "But you'll forgive them and let it go, because life's better when spent with family."

"I know," Harry said, fiddling with his hands again, smiling sadly. "I know. I just… I don't know."

"You were a little lost, but I think you're coming back around. Robards does, too, which is why he felt it was a good time for you to become a Senior Auror." Pucey gently touched him on the shoulder. "Make him proud, Harry. He's family, too."

Harry nodded, feeling admonished but also encouraged.

"Thanks," he said, finally looking at Pucey again. "I guess I really needed the reminder, so thank you. I'll try, okay?"

"Okay. That's all I or anyone else asks. And I'm here, any time you need me," Pucey said, patting him lightly. Then, smirking, "You and I are in the same age group as far as the rest of the unit is concerned. Can't let the old fogies have better teamwork, you hear?"

"Yeah, I hear," Harry laughed, exchanging a real grin with Pucey. Then, taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet, adjusting his robes and asking, "I guess it's off to the Healer now, hmm?"

"Well, actually, there was one last thing I wanted to talk to you about, if you can stand it a bit longer," Pucey said, eyeing him strangely, humor gone and uncertainty in its place.

"Er, what?" Harry tentatively asked, suddenly nervous.

Pucey chewed on a thought for a moment, never taking his eyes off Harry. Just when Harry thought he'd never speak, he cleared his throat and finally said, "When I told you that your future could become intricately tied to Draco's," he paused to wait for Harry's nod upon recalling that discussion, "I didn't mean that you should _date_ him."

Harry instantly closed off.

"What do you mean?" he queried, carefully and skillfully playing confused.

"Please, Harry, you're not the only Auror in the room," Pucey chastised.

Harry was genuinely surprised but was careful not to let it show on his face. He had thought he'd been particularly careful about his attraction to Malfoy.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not that _you_ were obvious," Pucey said, answering the unspoken question. "Draco, on the other hand, has the poker face of a four-year-old, and has been throwing tells left and right all night. He's doing it right now even."

Reluctantly glancing over the cubicle wall, Harry could see that, sure enough, Malfoy was agitatedly pacing in the break room, shooting looks their way. When he saw that Harry was staring back, he immediately twisted in the opposite direction, hand tucking hair behind an ear in that nervous habit of his.

" _God_ ," Harry mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose and feeling like a fool.

Pucey snorted, amused by his distress. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since last night, actually," Harry sighed.

"No, I don't mean how long have you been sleeping together, thank you," Pucey scoffed, unimpressed, and asked again, "How long has this been _going on?_ "

Harry stared intently at Malfoy's back.

"A while," he admitted after a moment. "Probably for a while."

"As soon as this whole mess with the muggles is sorted, we'll need to talk to Robards," Pucey told him, assuring upon seeing his worried look, "I'm sure he'll get over it. We will simply need to change a few projects around."

"Sure," Harry agreed, looking at Malfoy again. "That's a good idea."

Pucey canceled the charm around them, both wincing as the rush of the office noise assaulted their eardrums.

"Now go to the Healer. Get that arm checked out," Pucey instructed, adding flatly, "Your head too, while you're at it. I'll convince Draco to go home. He's only going to get in the way here."

"Tell him…" Harry hesitated, then sucked up his courage and said, "Tell him I'll come by soon. When I can." As an exasperated afterthought, "Also tell him not to be so goddamn obvious."

"Of course," Pucey said, smirking. "I was already planning to."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days passed before Harry made good on his word to see Malfoy.

Gretch took one look at him as he ducked out of the parlor fireplace and, eyes rolling to the ceiling, heaved a frustrated sigh that involved a whole body slump, shoulders dropping and knees bending. Harry figured it a good thing when she merely turned and stomped out soon thereafter, not saying a single word to him, as it meant Malfoy hadn't banned him from the property just yet—something he had worried might've happened in the wake of their last argument. As it was, he hoped showing up so late in the evening after so long a delay wouldn't end with his balls hexed off before he had a chance to explain himself.

Despite the hour, Malfoy was at the usual lab bench, stirring something or other in a cauldron, when Harry entered the lab. He stopped in the doorway and stood there quietly, not wanting to startle Malfoy when he was so focused on the task of scraping shredded root fibers into a simmering potion, the warm liquid hissing with each addition. Malfoy hadn't donned the usual protective lab gear, simply dressed in his usual robe, leading Harry to think the potion was more a personal project than a professional one.

A disgusted _tsk_ near Harry's feet alerted him to Gretch's return, her hands full of small boxes stacked high. He shifted out of her way, letting her pass into the lab, and was tempted to offer assistance but bit his tongue, already knowing her likely response. She managed without help anyway, carefully climbing a stepstool and sliding the boxes onto an unused benchtop, then sending a triumphant sneer over her shoulder at Harry, as if believing she'd proved something to him.

Harry smiled kindly at her, then smirked when she huffed and quickly disappeared in a pop. With an amused snort, Harry returned his attention to Malfoy—only to find the man staring sidelong at him, having realized he was there.

"You're late," Malfoy accused, but didn't sound as upset as all that, and he calmly resumed his work with the potion, lighting a match and touching the flame to the kindling under the cauldron.

"I know, been busy. Lots of suspects to interrogate, paperwork to file," Harry said, meandering closer and examining the ingredients still laid out on the cutting boards. He recognized quite a few and understood enough about potions to know what class of potion was being made.

"Stop making that face," Malfoy ordered, flatly glaring down his nose when Harry glanced guiltily at him. "I'm hardly so delicate. This potion isn't for me."

Harry asked without thinking, "For your mother?" and then immediately winced at the boldness of the question. He was already on thin ice.

"Yes," Malfoy answered honestly, not appearing as annoyed as Harry thought he might. He stared for a moment, clearly weighing something in his mind, and then turned and strode from the lab, motioning for Harry to follow him.

Malfoy led down the hall, up the stairs, and to the bedroom, where he left Harry waiting by the door while he disappeared into one of the closets. Harry's heart gave an expectant thud when his eyes passed over the bed, his mind gleefully recalling the last night he'd spent there. He quickly squashed the excitement, knowing that this time could very well end differently.

Malfoy reappeared from the closet a minute later and at first Harry was confused, as he still looked the same, not having changed clothes at all, but then he held something up for Harry to see.

"Oh!" Harry said in surprise, taking the small object when Malfoy offered it. "You got a mobile!"

"It's a company one. I received it when I started at Snyder," Malfoy explained.

"You mean, you've had this the entire time and never used it?" Harry demanded, aghast.

Malfoy shrugged, looking wearily at the mobile. "It doesn't matter now. I'll put powder in it, so give me your port number." His eyes flicked up briefly when Harry made a surprised noise and then to the side, expression tight. "Don't you dare tell a soul."

Harry tried to stop the smile, even rolled in and bit his bottom lip, but it broke through anyway.

"So I'm not just imagining it. This is real, right?" he asked, gesturing between the two of them with the mobile. "This thing between us. Does this mean we're officially together, you giving me, and _only_ me, your port number?"

"No, it's not official," Malfoy snapped, but before Harry's heart could drop too much in disappointment, he added, "I mean, yes, _obviously_ we're together." A glare daring Harry to suggest otherwise. "However, we are not _official_. We can never be that."

"Why not?" Harry asked, somewhat elated, somewhat confused, but mostly curious and entertained.

" _Because_ ," Malfoy said in aggravation, spinning away from Harry and stalking over to the bed, which he fell back onto with a huff. He stared at the ceiling, arms stretched above him. "This has to be a secret, Potter. It can't be in any of the papers."

"Not in the papers, sure, but it's not like we can't tell anyone—"

"Not a _soul_. It's bad enough you told Adrian."

"I didn't tell him anything he hadn't already figured out for himself," Harry scoffed and moved to sit on the bed's edge. "What's so wrong with telling people?"

"Mother had a hard enough time accepting that I was to _work_ with you," Malfoy sighed, glancing at him. "I don't even want to know what'll happen if I tell her we're sleeping together."

"Probably better if you tell her than the papers," Harry advised, and cocked a brow when Malfoy looked at him again. "It _will_ get out eventually, you know. Those reporters, they smell stories like sharks smell blood."

"Yes, well, perhaps by the time they get a whiff, I'll have warmed up Mother to the idea a bit."

"Maybe it'll help if you tell her that I'll no longer be the Auror on your project."

Malfoy flew into a sitting position, shocked. "Wait, what? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that Pucey is taking over again," Harry said, giving him a strange look. Seeing that Malfoy was about to argue, he interrupted, "We can't work together _and_ date. It's a conflict of interest. It's bad enough we didn't wait until now."

"Oh fuck waiting," Malfoy snapped, flopping down again and scowling. "Ugh. At least it's Adrian and not one of those other louts you work with."

"They're not so bad," Harry said, patting him affectionately on the leg.

As if realizing something, Malfoy breathed in sharply but was quiet, hesitating, and then he asked, "Speaking of your coworkers, how is Auror Proudfoot?"

"Proudfoot's fine," Harry said, lying down as well, turning on his side to face Malfoy. "A bit banged up, but he'll be fine."

"Turns out he's a capable Auror then?" Malfoy snipped, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sank into the mattress, no longer worried that he'd tread onto a sensitive subject.

"Yeah, he's capable," Harry agreed.

"So you should probably rely on your coworkers a little more and not take so many risks, hmm?"

"Pot, kettle," Harry pointedly teased. "You're not exactly taking care with your experiments. I no more want to visit you in St. Mungo's than you want to visit me."

"I know," Malfoy said quietly, and Harry knew that he did or else he wouldn't have been so upset in the first place.

"Listen," Harry continued, waiting until Malfoy was looking at him to finish. "I want to be what you want, _who_ you want, but I _need_ to be who I _am_ , okay? Not that I won't _try_ , because I will, I promise. But sometimes, I… I just need to be me."

He trailed off then, head shaking as he looked down at Malfoy's duvet. As per usual, he was poorly rationalizing his behavior.

"I know," Malfoy said then, startling Harry, and he hefted to one elbow, pausing before leaning in for a short kiss. He held Harry's gaze when he drew back, quietly clarifying, "I know who you are, Potter. I've always known. And, Merlin help me, but I want to be who you want, too." He shifted a little, perhaps a bit shyly. "I'll try to do better if you do."

Harry swallowed thickly, nodding, and then chuckled, also somewhat embarrassed. He waved off Malfoy's questioning look, not wanting to explain that, for so long, he'd felt like he were standing still, and now, suddenly but slowly, the world was moving again.

"You know, even after all the shit you've put me through, I'm glad I got assigned your project," Harry said honestly.

"All the shit _I've_ put _you_ through?" Malfoy demanded, gasping his offense. He scowled when Harry laughed, but then looked away, sighing and grumbling, "You're an asshole, but…"

He didn't finish, instead just shaking his head, but Harry didn't need him to. Like Pucey had said, Malfoy had as obvious tells as a child and Harry could read him like a Snitch. It was a little early to start throwing declarations around anyway, so Harry would kindly let him slide this once.

Eventually, as crazy and unexpected as it seemed, Harry knew Malfoy would tell him and, most probably, he'd return the sentiment. Who knows, maybe they'd end up life _not_ -partners—at least until Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't croak at the sight of him.

"So that's it then," Harry said, moving to lie on his back, eyes automatically drifting closed after a long day in the office.

"That's it," Malfoy agreed, also lying down, relaxing. He sighed as he said, "Sometimes I wonder how we ever came to be."

"Ah, but you'd feel incomplete without me," Harry teased, chuckling when Malfoy snorted.

And if it was only their hands that found each other as they both drifted into sleep, clothes still on and all, well, Harry wasn't going to complain.

 

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